


All for Love

by tinallie



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinallie/pseuds/tinallie
Summary: A curse, prejudice against magic, secrets behind every door, East Sea was a kingdom full of mystery. Even more so when most of the people living within the walls weren't originally from the kingdom. King Richard Winters had inherited a kingdom all but lost. They say it takes a village, but the king had managed to unite an entire kingdom in the quest to reverse a curse.





	1. Retrouvailles

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm back! School is almost over, one more week! I've managed to work on this puppy during the slog, and I may be shooting myself in the foot by posting a bit earlier than intended, but I was hoping to get some feedback. This AU just wouldn't leave me alone and my thanks to Bridget for getting me through this trying time, haha! 
> 
> This is a long haul again you guys, because I physically cannot write something short. This will have rotating POVs and have more of an adventure feel with overarching plots. Kind of like a TV show. So if your fave isn't featured in one chapter, please do not worry, just about everyone will get the spotlight in one chapter or another. I really want to explore this world and the people inside, and while I have an ending planned, there's a lot of room to explore, so there may not be as steady of a stream of updates as my last fic. I will try my best to keep this pretty regular, but please bear with me as my muse rears its ugly head. 
> 
> Last of all, please enjoy! As always, I'll see you guys in the comments!

_Retrouvailles - French_

_The feeling of joy when you are reunited with a loved one after a long separation._

  


His foot slipped for the tenth time against the slippery moss covered stones and his brown boot filled with water. Hissing out a curse, he lifted his boot from the creek and trudged forward, shrugging his bow higher on his shoulder. The arrows in his quiver rattled as he swayed back and forth in an effort to get across the creek.

“Alex, c’mon,” Skip groaned from ahead, “you’re slowing us down!”

“Hey, it’s not as easy as it looks!” He argued back and narrowly avoided filling his boot back up. “Do we really have to go so far for a… what is it? Some flower?”

“The Arge—agi—argin—”

“Argentine lilly.” Don supplied with his stupid amused smirk as he crouched up the creek on an unnecessarily large rock that split the creek. Alex didn’t even know how he’d gotten up there. “And yes, we do. Spina needs it. Lots of it.”

“So why isn’t he out here collecting flowers?” Alex grumbled and balled his fists and clenched his teeth when his boot slipped from the moss and he ended up knee deep in the creek.

“You know why.” Skip snorted and offered his hand, which Alex took gratefully. “C’mon, let’s catch up to that bastard and get these flowers.”

Thankfully, they only needed to follow the creek for another mile, from there it was dry ground and trees upon trees. Alex’s boots didn’t dry out, not in the chill of early autumn evenings. By the time they stopped to start a fire and hunt for some dinner, his feet were soggy and wrinkled. Skip was nice enough to get the fire started while Don went out to find a rabbit, or, if they were really lucky, a deer or boar. Anything was welcomed, Alex decided as his stomach churned and gurgled at him in protest. He’d only had a pear that morning.

Alex scrunched his nose as he tipped over his boot and watched as what seemed like a small river ran out. The other boot joined the first by the fire, wool socks hung over the tops, and Alex laid against the grass and twigs of the forest with a great sigh. They’d be camping out in the open, not necessarily a bad thing, but with the cold creeping in it was more of a pain to have to stay up on fire watch.

“You’re taking second watch.” Skip told him.

“What? No, I did it last time.” Second watch was always the worst. Just when he’d fall asleep and get an ounce of rest, there would be a hand shaking him awake. Falling asleep after was never hard, but it shortened his sleep by two thirds.

“Well I made the fire and Don’s out hunting, so tough luck. Be useful next time.”

“Useful.” Alex grumbled. “I’m about to go collect firewood, so how about that?”

“In bare feet?”

“Well I’m not going to put my wet boots back on, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The snap of a twig pulled them away from the argument. Alex’s well trained eyes scanned East, where the noise came from. With any luck, it was an animal they could eat. Alex spotted something better. Don, grin a mile wide, with a pheasant in one hand and a rabbit in the other snapped several more twigs as he came back to their meager camp.

“Boys, I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving!” Alex corrected, and leapt to his feet. “I’ll get us some more firewood.”

“With no boots?”

“No boots!” Alex confirmed and ignored the slightly concerned look Don sent after him as he scurried off to find wood. It was partially so he wouldn’t have to help defeather the pheasant. His hands always ached afterward.

He knew better than to hum while he was out in the wild, but he couldn’t help bouncing his head in time to a song never sung aloud. It wasn’t difficult to find the wood, but he took his time. If he timed it just right, by the time he got back the meat would be nearly done.

Sticks and branches in hand, a thought dawned on him as he returned. Excitement had pinkened his cheeks and quickened his heart and he ignored the way a twig jabbed him between his toes as he hurried back. The firewood was hastily thrown to the side in a loud clatter and Alex threw himself onto Skip, pushing him down so he could straddle him.

“Hey!” Skip protested, hands still around a half defeathered pheasant. “Alex, get off!”

Alex only grinned and leaned forward, claiming the brown eyed man’s lips for his own. Surprise hit first, something like a panic, and even Don gave half a cry of protest before Alex pulled back.

“We’re outside the kingdom.” He told them, licking his lips in satisfaction and lifting his eyebrow suggestively at Don.

Skip’s eyes were still wide in shock and in an instant there was a flurry of movement. Skip nearly toppled him over in his haste to kiss him and Don was at his back, pulling at his tunic and belt. It was sloppy, uncoordinated, and entirely too short lived, but in the end they lay against each other, laughing and high.

“It’s almost dark.” Don pointed out. “And dinner is just lying in the dirt.”

“We’ll wash it off.” Skip assured, and ran an absent hand through red locks. Don returned the affection with a quick peck to the cheek.

Alex snaked a hand up Skip’s green tunic, one of the only articles of clothing not thrown off in their haste to indulge. Skip pulled his hand out of his tunic, kissed it gently, and sighed.

“C’mon, I’m dying of hunger after all of that.”

Alex hummed in agreement and reluctantly pulled his hand back to allow Skip to pull away from them. Worn leather britches were pulled back on and laced up, tunics were belted and weapons properly placed for the night. Skip washed the rabbit off and finished the defeathering while Don slowly roasted the meat over the fire. Alex took to keeping watch for any wolves or bears or wild cats looking for a quick meal. And people. But out here in the wilderness, Alex knew they wouldn’t see any. This forest in particular was dense, far from their kingdom and bordering another. The mountains were steep and too risky to climb, leaving it without a pass. Any traders or travelers would go around them if they were smart. Outlaws might try to cross the mountains, but the wildlife had been able to thrive without disturbance for too long. The predators were not afraid of humans.

Dinner was filling and relaxing and Alex sagged against Don’s back as the fire died down to half of what it was. The sun dipped just below the tree line and the shadows grew long in the forest.

“Maybe this flower quest isn’t so bad.”

“What, because we were able to fuck?” Skip snorted. “If we hadn’t, you would still be complaining.”

“We owed Spina for last year, anyways.” Don poked at the fire and Alex absentmindedly passed him a piece of firewood to throw in. “When _someone_ got sick, remember?”

“You’d blame me for this?” Alex raised a brow and handed him another. “Fine, blame me for the best fuck you’ve had in over a year.”

“Well I know I will.” Skip teased. “And I expect several repeat performances. Tonight and tomorrow and however long it takes for us to find these flowers.”

Don hummed. “We aren’t far, according to Spina. And we should get back with them as soon as possible.”

“Don’t spoil the fun, Don.” Alex chided and swept his hand low to squeeze at his ass. Don grinned and squeezed back, a little harder. Alex let go the tiniest gasp, but it was enough to have Don nipping at his lips.

“Don’t leave me out.” Skip whined.

“You’re on first watch, aren’t you?” Alex teased. “You’d best take your job seriously. We wouldn’t want you _distracted_ , would we Don?”

His hand curled between them, unlacing britches once more. Don took him into a deep kiss, hands over his cheeks as he licked and nipped and broke away once they heard the whimper from their third.

“No, Alex, we wouldn’t.” Don groaned as Alex wrapped a skilled hand around him, slow and teasing. “What if we’re attacked in our sleep?”

Alex didn’t bother to keep up the verbal teasing, he pushed back into the kiss and rearranged them so that he was bent over Don, leaned back on his elbows as Alex worked him. There was whimpering from below him as he took to marking up his redhead’s neck and jaw, nipping and sucking as his hand worked. A furious cussing came from across the campfire. Alex pulled back and up just enough to see Skip’s hand delve into his britches. With a glint in his eye he stopped his ministrations and watched Skip’s face fall as Don grunted impatiently.

“Alex,” came the plea from below, but Alex kept his eyes on a frustrated Skip. “Alex!”

He gave a quick stroke, felt Don twitch in his hands and heard the deep moan, eyes all the while tracking the mirrored movement from across the fire. He grinned wide and gave two more, quick strokes. Skip’s hand mirrored again.

Satisfied, he dipped down to claim Don into a kiss once more and muffled the moan as he _twisted_ just so. There was a keening sound from across the fire and Alex twitched in his own britches, far too tight and still _on_ , for some reason. He grabbed one of Don’s hands and brought it to him, squeezed Don’s hand around himself before he returned to kissing, stroking, and twisting. Don got the hint and slowly, far too slowly, unlaced him and took him out in return.

There was an _“ah, ah, ah!”_ and Don spilled over his hand. Alex fisted and twisted him all the way through it, enjoying the way his body tensed against him and the way his mouth opened just so. There was panting, Don blinking what Alex knew was the blinding pleasure from his eyes before he was flipped over with a surprising feat of strength.  

There was warmth and wet and Alex had to bite hard at the back of his fist to keep from coming then and there. There was a low moan and Alex opened his eyes to see Skip furiously stroking himself, practically in pain seeing Don go down on him.

“Do it.” Alex whispered, choked off with a moan of his own because _god_ Don knew what he was doing. “Skip, _please_.”

The plea had done it and Alex heard, rather than saw with the pleasure forcing his eyes shut, Skip spill into his own hands. Ten seconds later Alex pushed at Don’s face, the only warning he had before he was nothing but jelly in the grass. Don gently tucked him back in and laced him back up. It was something he always did, after. He couldn’t help but to clean them up and tuck them in before he was able to rest. Alex let him, muscles so far relaxed he was sure he was dreaming.

He’d missed this so terribly. His heart ached, knowing the night would be too short, the day even shorter. If they were lucky, they could squeeze another night out of this flower quest, but then they’d cross back into East Sea land and the ache to touch one another would resume.

The distinct sound of kissing didn’t bother him as he drifted off, content to get what little rest he could before a hand—

—violently shook him awake and he groaned loudly, whimpering against the agony of second watch. Skip looked all too happy to wake him, even leaning down to kiss him like some princess in a fairy tale. Alex was not amused. Instead, he untangled himself from Don’s grasp and muttered;

“I’m surprised you didn’t wake me.”

“We only fucked once while you were passed out.” Skip shrugged. “He’s been tired.”

Alex sighed through his nose and smoothed over red hair. He carefully pulled away and allowed Skip to take his place wrapped up in strong arms. Alex stretched and yawned, miserable in his lucidity.

“If they’d stop sending us out on these quests all the damn time…”

“I thought you were going to thank Spina for this when we got back?”

“Sure, for _this_.” Alex growled. “This is the first time we’ve been out of East Sea lands in a year. How many times have we been sent out on something Shifty or McClung should have been on? I know we’re all desperate, but…”

“Let’s just do our part, alright? It’ll all be okay.” A hand curled around the edge of his tunic and pulled, just a little. Alex obliged and leaned into the kiss. Skip’s hand curled around the the back of his neck and through his own dark tresses before he smoothed down the hair again. “Let King Winters handle the hard part. We just need to go where we’re told.”

“I know.” He sighed and pulled away, but caught Skip’s hand in his own with a small squeeze. “Get some sleep already, before I keep you up longer.”

Skip chuckled but conceded and he nudged Don’s arm up and over his torso, huddling into the warmth it provided. Alex took to tending the fire and shivered a bit at the chill. The forest was quiet, save for an owl hoot here or there. The fire crackled, but not overly loud. He was able to hear the snaps of twigs and the rustling of bush, but not a single live thing strayed their way.

He kept himself awake by day dreaming of how it would all be when it was over. He imagined walking back into the castle, chest puffed high because they found a way to reverse the curse. He imagined having Skip in the bath, kissing Don every morning as they put on their boots and shouldered their quivers and bows. He imagined sleeping in the same bed again without fear of tempting fate.

By the time dawn rolled around he realized that he hadn’t woke Don for his watch. Oh well, it wasn’t as if he was going to have gotten much sleep anyways. He looked on at his companions fondly, itching to touch them again but knowing that Don was right. They had a job to do. The faster they got back, the faster they could continue their search.

There was nothing for breakfast, the dinner from before having been hearty enough to keep them going for most of the day. They’d certainly gone on less. He woke Don first, with a kiss, just as Skip had done to him. It was reciprocated, slow and tender, with tinny sounds of content. Alex broke it with a smile, happy to see Don pass it along before the two of them were frowning at him with bleary eyes.

“You should have woken me.” Don scolded. “You’re going to slow us down again today.”

“Maybe I wanted to.” Alex answered petulantly, playfully. “Another day of kissing you is worth a night up.”

“I’m serious, Alex.” Don was always serious when it came to their well being. Or a quest. Or anytime food was involved.

“I woke him up late,” Skip soothed, “so it was more like we shared the night half and half. Quit worrying.”

“Then I’ll take the whole night to—”

“None of that.” Skip shushed him. “We’ll share like normal. You were tired, we noticed and let you sleep. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

Don looked as if he might argue, but Alex handed him his boots with a tired smile. “C’mon, Don, we need our navigator in tip top shape. Otherwise we’ll end up off the side of a cliff again.”

“That wasn’t my fault, first of all,” Don snatched up his boots and frowned, but Alex spotted the pink in his cheeks from the embarrassment. “And second of all, it wasn’t a cliff, it was just a large hill. We were fine.”

“You were limping the entire way back. I had to rub Alex’s back for three days!” Skip argued, joining in on the teasing. “Just a large hill. Sure, if hills are cut in half and there aren’t rocks at the bottom.”

“They were small rocks.”

“Still hurt like a bitch.” Alex complained, dramatically rubbing at the small of his back. It had been quite the disastrous fall. They were lucky they weren’t on horses.

“Alright, I get it.” Don waved off the grins. “Get your boots on, we need to move.”

Alex stole a quick kiss and was pleasantly surprised to find his boots were dry. A night by the fire had done wonders. They were even warm and he reveled in it as his freezing toes soaked up all the warmth they could get.

Skip and Don complained that he was too slow, and he scowled and claimed he wasn’t, but it was true that he had slowed them down. His head felt heavy and he rubbed at his eyes, regretting now that he’d only gotten a meager three hours of sleep in the night.

The flowers grew only in shade by a lake so wide Alex considered it an ocean. They were delicate, Don told them as each of them carefully harvested what they could, pulling the flowers out with as much of the root intact as possible. Herbalists used every inch of a plant and it was impressive, not that Alex would ever admit that to Ralph.

They left a few to grow bigger, stronger, and to grow more for them in the future. Perhaps Spina could plant a couple closer to the castle, so they wouldn’t have to trek quite so far. Then again, the trek was well worth the rewards along the way.

He had slowed considerably by the time midday had passed and there were only a few hours of daylight left. His head began to ache and he found himself squinting to see anything more than a few feet in front of him. Skip slowed and teased, but Alex didn’t have the strength or the will to bite back. He knew it was bad when Don had stopped moving completely to watch them catch up.

“What’s wrong? Is it your feet?” Don held a hand to his chest to stop him from trudging forward. “They aren’t still wet, are they?”

“I’m fine.” Alex squinted at him. “You’re wasting time.”

“You don’t need to play tough, not out here and not with us.” Don told him. “Take off your boots.”

“It’s not my feet.” Alex protested and moved back when Skip leaned down to start unlacing them.

“Then what?”

“My head hurts a little is all.” Alex muttered. “I’m sorry for being slow, I’ll try to pick it up. Can we please just go?”

There was a hand at his forehead almost immediately. “No fever.”

“It’s a warning sign.” Skip said flatly. “You didn’t sleep much and your feet were cold. Ralph is gonna have a fit when we bring you back to him.”

“I don’t need Spina, I’m fine. It’s just a small ache.”

“Sure, Alex, fine until Don and I have to drag you back between us like a wounded hero.”

“Skip,” Alex warned. His head hurt and he really didn’t want to deal with the scolding.

“Alright, fine.” Skip threw his hands up and shook his head. “But I’m not going to kiss you. I don’t need to catch what you’ve got before we get home.”

It was supposed to goad him into a kiss, but Alex just hunched in on himself and started walking again. He brushed past the two of them and concentrated on ignoring the ache that came with every step. Don overtook him after a few steps, nothing surprising about that. Don was a fast walker and liked to scout ahead a bit while Alex and Skip mucked about at a slower pace.

The second the sun had dipped below the tree line Skip and Don pounced, shoving him to sit in the crook of a tree while they busied themselves with starting a fire. Had he the energy to get up, he would have offered his help. He knew they would protest it the second he did anyways. He fell asleep, cradled against the bark.

They woke him for a meager dinner, a small rabbit Don had caught with more than a little bit of luck. He ate slowly, savoring the tender meat and struggling to keep his eyes open. He ignored the concerned looks and mumbled quietly, “I get third watch.” before settling back against the bark to sleep once more.

When he woke on his own in the morning, feeling leagues better than he had yesterday, he mourned the loss of a night outside of the kingdom. But upon finding Skip and Don laid apart, not even touching, he realized that they had indeed passed back into the kingdom’s borders. The opportunity had been lost to him anyways. Disappointed, he crawled to Skip and shook him awake. The man came to life with a snort, disoriented.

“Wha?”

“Morning.”

“Shit,” Skip hissed and rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Should’ve woken me.” Alex told him.

“Shut up.” Skip mumbled. “Wake up Don for me?”

Don looked better too, having gone what was probably nearly two full nights of sleep. He was more alert when Alex shook him awake and gently murmured a greeting. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah. I told you I was fine.”

“Mm.” Don licked his lips and stretched with a groan. The ground was never very forgiving, and they were only getting older. He scratched at the beard he’d grown in the last few months, a rather seductive addition, Skip and Alex had decided when it had grown in fully. “I wonder how everyone is.”

“Well, Don, probably the exact same as when we left.”

“Miserable. Cranky.” Alex supplied with a shrug. “Jealous, probably. That beard only hides so much.”

Don itched at one of the many visible marks on his skin. “They should have volunteered, then.”

“We’d better hope Guarnere is still out. He’ll probably be in a worse mood the second he sees you.”

“Maybe,” Skip shrugged, “but he’s had plenty of time outside of the kingdom.”

“Yeah but Frannie isn’t with him and there’s no way he’s shacking up with Toye.”

“Sometimes you wonder.” Don grinned.

They’d made it a good distance back to  East Sea when something caught Skip’s attention from behind. By the time Alex had stopped to turn around there was a harsh call.

“Drop your weapons and raise your hands!”

There was an accent—not one well known around these parts. Alex turned, an eyebrow raised and found himself staring down four men and one woman. The woman and one of the men had bows notched with arrows, drawn back and ready to fire at any hint of resistance. One man held a sword at the ready, the other two merely had a hand at the hilt of their swords.

“Bandits, huh?” Skip muttered. “Just our luck that we run into them just as soon as we’ve reached home.”

“Quit yapping and drop the bows!” The woman snapped. “Both of you, now!”

Both? Ah, they must’ve missed Don scouting just a little further ahead. Alex sighed and swung his bow around and off of his shoulder. He bent to place the bow on the ground, swooping just low enough for his quiver to upend and scatter arrows across the forest floor.

“Ah, damn it!” he made a point to cuss and then he drew and fired in one quick motion. One was downed, an arrow through the eye. Skip had narrowly avoided an arrow fired in return and shot one of his own. He didn’t miss.

He didn’t want to kill the woman, but she had reloaded another arrow and between her and two swordsmen, they’d have trouble. His hand slipped his throwing knife from it’s hidden sheath at his side and he hurled it, barely having time to see if it hit its mark before he had to duck. The swing of the sword missed, but barely so. The man grunted in anger and was midswing again when an arrow found his back. He crumpled at Alex’s feet with a groan of agony.

An arrow whizzed past and Alex’s heart lurched when Skip yelped in pain. He spun around, eyes seeking the woman. He found her, knife embedded in her thigh. It wasn’t enough to stop her from notching another arrow back, hands trembling as she released. Alex dove to the ground; there was another pained groan from behind him, but he focused on quickly notching his own arrow. He was faster than her and his aim was truer. She crumpled with a horrid, wet gasp.

He paid her no more attention, turning back to Skip. Don was there at his side, murmuring something, but Alex could only focus on the arrow through Skip’s shoulder. Red bled through the thick material of the green tunic they all wore, not at an alarming rate, but the sight alone had Alex’s stomach churning. He took a moment to take it in before he stumbled forward.

Burning pain cut through his thigh and he fell, shocked. He didn’t have much time to react; there was a man bearing down on him, dagger raised to strike. His eyes were blue, his beard unkempt, and there was a tattoo on the side of his neck. Alex’s hand wrapped around one of the arrows he’d dropped on the floor earlier and he struck before he even thought about it. The tip of the arrow pierced the man through his neck. The dagger was thrust down and sliced his left arm just above his elbow.

The man gurgled and slumped forward onto him. Alex heard his last breaths very clearly as he died on top of him.

“Alex!” Don cried, and the blue eyed bandit was shoved off of him. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”

“Elbow,” he told him, winded and dazed from the encounter. It wasn’t his first kill, but it had been a long time since he’d been that close to dying. “And my leg.”

“Shit, okay. Skip, make sure the rest of them are dead.” Don ordered and Alex stared at the bandit as hands examined his left elbow, and then his left thigh. “These don’t look too bad. Can you stand?”

“Think so,” he replied quietly, and with the outstretched hand in front of him, pulled himself up. He was able to stand, but his thigh burned. He hissed when he took a hesitant step forward. He’d be limping, but they would be able to get back without too much delay.

“Don,” Skip called, and they both knew the tone. “We need to go.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah. What about Skip?” He swallowed back the whimper as he bent and picked up as many arrows as he could to return to his quiver.

“I broke off the arrow. He’ll be hurting, but there’s nothing we can do until we get back.”

“Hey now, don’t you worry about me.” Skip told them, but his voice was strained and Alex very much understood the pain he was going to have to keep at bay. “Let’s go.”

They left the bodies for the forest to consume, focused more on putting as much distance as they could between them. Alex limped and Skip cursed every once in a while. Don kept a close eye on both of them and stuck to their sides. He knew it was because Don was feeling guilty for scouting ahead.

He had no reason to feel guilty. Alex was the one who royally screwed up. If he’d been more precise with his throw, Skip wouldn’t have an arrow in his shoulder. And if he’d watched where the hell he’d been going, he wouldn’t be limping his way back to East Sea.

It did take long for Don to find a cave for them to take refuge in for a while. Alex swore Don was blessed by all of the gods with good fortune. The mouth of the cave was well hidden, not something that anyone who may have been following them would notice. Dark and narrow, stretching into the small mountain, the cave barely fit them. It was more like a passage leading to nowhere rather than a cave wildlife would use.

Alex didn’t complain, however, just sat with a breath of relief and nursed his injuries. Skip huddled close to do the same. There was the hiss of a fire starting and light came to them in the form of a crudely made torch. The torch was placed on the floor so Don could use both hands to check on Skip’s shoulder.

“It hurts, but I’ll live, Don.” Skip let him examine the wound again, but Alex could see how much he wanted to curl away from the prodding hands. “I’m more concerned about who those guys were.”

“Stognians.” Alex confirmed. “Which means they were going to just rob us.”

“What brought them to this side of the mountains?”

“Lack of food, maybe.” Don mumbled. “It doesn’t look poisoned.”

“Since when does a Stognian know how to use poison?” Skip huffed. “They’re crafty, but they aren’t schemers.”

“Don’s right, Skip.” Alex hissed as Don moved onto him, twisting his arm slightly so he could get a better look at the gash. “Doesn’t matter who it is, poison is always a possibility.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Skip waved him off and then winced. “Damn it. This is going to take forever to heal.”

“Guess we owe Spina again.” Alex sighed.

“When do we ever _not_ owe Spina?”

“You have a point.” Alex shrugged. Don, seemingly satisfied with the state of their wounds, sat back with a heavy sigh. Alex glanced right and squinted at the inky black further down the cave. “How far back does this thing go?”

“Why?” Skip kicked a boot against his own. “You planning on going further in?”

“Sometimes bandits hide their treasure in caves.” Alex shrugged. “Worth a look.”

“Both of you are sitting tight.” Don told them, tone clipped, and really, Alex should’ve expected that. “I’ll go.”

Skip snorted. “To keep the treasure all to yourself. I see how it is.”

“There could be danger.” Don argued, but his tone was light. Without a doubt, it was so Don could claim he found the treasure on his own. Alex had never known the man not to be up for an adventure. It was how they always ended up outside the castle walls, fending off wolves and bears and bandits.

“Just remember it was my idea!”

Alex and Skip watched as Don took the torch and sidled along the walls of the narrow cave until they could barely see the glowing light. He was gone for a few minutes and then he was back, eyebrows furrowed in that way that told Alex he’d found something, but it wasn’t treasure.

“What’d you find?” Skip pressed.

“Some markings. I can’t read them. You got any parchment with you?”

“Yeah, I do.” Alex ignored the sting of his elbow and dug into the larger pouch attached to his belt. He had no quill or ink, but he provided a broken piece of coal. It was the best they could do out in the wild.

“Thanks. I’m going to go copy it down. Maybe Nixon can read it.”

“If he can’t, maybe Webster could.” Skip supplied. “He knows some old writing, I think.”

“It’s what you get for growing up noble, I guess.” Alex shrugged and watched Don disappear with the torch back into the darkness.

“I’d rather have grown up noble than be stuck planting fields for hours everyday.”

Alex hummed in agreement. “Or slaving away in a kitchen. I don’t know how Joe Dominguez does it.”

“No one knows how Joe does it, Alex. I’m afraid to know what he puts into half the stuff he makes.”

“Can’t be rat. I know what rat tastes like.”

Skip snorted. “Why the hell do you know what rat tastes like?”

“Desperate times, Skip, desperate times.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He’d been starving and sometimes the forest only offers meager bites. He hadn’t met Don or Skip at the time. He hadn’t even heard of East Sea at the time. His father told him to go out and hunt his sixteenth summer and so he did. It took three days to find something he could actually bring home to his family. The deer had been worth the two rats he’d eaten.

“You can’t just leave it off there. Spill.”

The sound of rock skipping off rock followed by the glow of the torch signaled Don’s return. He crouched down to place the parchment between them. Alex peered at the strange writing curiously. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. The script was fanciful, swirling and curling across the page.

“What language is this?”

“I don’t know, but I did a poor job imitating it.” Don answered.

“If this is a poor imitation, I want to see what this actually looks like.” Skip shook his head with wide eyes, in awe of the writing. “Was it carved into the wall?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of small, but when I bring the torch to it, it kind of glows.” Don looked Alex right in the eye and said; “I think it’s magic.”

They let words hang between them, eyes alight with interest. Alex licked his lips and brought a hand up to run through his hair. They could only hope it held some sort of key to figuring out a way to reverse the curse.

“We need to get this back.” Skip grunted as he pulled himself up to stand. Don was up and steadying him a moment later.

“We need to get _you_ back.” Don corrected. “I didn’t see anyone following us, we’re probably safe to continue.”

“We can hope. You know the rule with Stognians.” Alex sighed, “Where there’s one, there’s two. Where there’s few, there’s many.”

“Then let’s hurry.” Skip grunted.

 

* * *

 

It took half a day to reach the monitored border of the kingdom. Ramirez whistled at them from his tower, gave the signal, which they returned, and they successfully passed without an arrow through the heart.

“Hey!” came the call, and the three of them paused to look up at the watchman. “Guess who’s back?”

“No shit, really?!” Don called back. “They get anyone?”

“Go see for yourself!”

“That guy never fucking spills.” Alex muttered to Skip.

“I like surprises.” Skip mumbled back. “I just hope it’s a good one.”

From the watchtower to the castle gates was a two hour walk, one filled with anticipation and wishful thinking. Smokey whistled from up on top of the stone gate and a second later large wooden doors were being drawn open. The three of them slipped through, greeting city guards and knights alike as they entered East Sea.

“Shit, you boys really took a beating, huh?” Hoobler grimaced at the state of them. “Hey, you guys hear about the—”

“Malarkey!” That was Perconte who called, beckoning to them with waving hands. “Come look!”

Hoobler grinned. “I’ll let you see for yourself.”

Alex clapped him on the back and limped as he followed Don and Skip to where Perconte was practically vibrating on his feet in excitement.

They followed the dirt path that the carts took into the small city, weaving between citizens as they went. Alex was careful not to bump into any of them. If the flowers became damaged in any sort of way, Ralph would only send them out to collect more and Alex really missed his bed. The inner city gates let them through at Perconte’s wave and Alex’s jaw dropped at the wagon in the center of the courtyard.

“Holy shit.” Don murmured and Alex could only stare.

The caged wagon was nothing new. The wood was tough and sturdy with metal bars enclosing the entire top half of the wagon. Inscriptions had been carved into every side of the wagon’s wooden frame. Alex couldn’t actually read them, but they were vital to the men in charge of leading the wagon.

Inside the wagon three men sat. One was snarling, spitting threats through the bars at wary and irritated knights. Guarnere and Toye in particular looked quite put out by the man. His hair was a bit wild and his eyes were sharp. His entire countenance spoke _dangerous_. He wore a gray shirt made of cotton and down the sleeves corded braids tightened the fabric around his arms. It was a detail that Alex never seen incorporated into clothing. He wondered where the man was from; he didn’t look wealthy, didn’t look poor, either.

The next man was more tame. His eyes, lined with kohl, slid from man to man, as if he were counting them. He probably was. His hair was black, framing his face in a very handsome manner. Adorned on his hands were rings of various stones and metals. A purple sash, glinting here and there with hints of silver in the fabric was tied around his waist. He wore a black leather doublet and leather britches. It wasn’t exactly fashion forward, but it somehow worked, all put together like that.

The last man Alex had a hard time seeing, as he was all the way in the front of the wagon. He could make out black hair and plain clothing, nothing that stood out like the other two.

“I want them out one at a time!” Captain Speirs barked.

“Hey Perco, get everyone back, would ya?” Martin ordered.

Don, Alex, and Skip weren’t the only curious ones trying to cop a look at the catch. Nearly every knight and castle guard who wasn’t on duty had gathered around to get an eyeful. Perconte begrudgingly did his duty and they were all pushed back and nearly out of the courtyard. The only ones left were the knights who were able to claim credit for the capture of not one but _three_ potential magic users.

Captain Speirs barked out orders with only the confidence that the captain of the knights could have. His eyes held no fear, his muscles were tense, and he oversaw every action as the first of the captives were released from the wagon. It was the dangerous one first, dragged out by force and restrained with a knight on each arm. The rope that bound his hands was quickly replaced with wooden stock cuffs, inscribed with what Alex recognized as the same symbols on the wagon.

The man didn’t have a chance to use any magic, and for that, everyone was grateful. The man hollered and spat, cursing every last one of them before he was dragged through the courtyard and into the castle. Speirs led the way as Guarnere and Martin took the man in. Toye and Lipton stood guard over the other two, sat quiet in the wagon.

“Crazy, right?” Perconte grinned at the three of them. “Just brought ‘em in. I didn’t think they’d catch any, let alone three!”

“Three…” Don whistled in awe. “What can they do?”

“Dunno.” Perconte shrugged. “Hopefully reverse a curse.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” A brief pause, and then Don asked; “Hey, you know where Spina is?”

“Spina? Probably in his chambers. He’s been a little off lately.”

Well, that wasn’t a surprise. Alex recalled the man’s frantic mumblings as he tried to find what he needed. Ralph hadn’t been an herbalist for long, just two years. Their last herbalist died tragically due to a nasty addiction to Waker’s Weed. He’d used the weed as a crutch to stay awake, but his heart gave out after too many days with no sleep. Ralph had been the only one around who had even half an idea of herbs and plants. As for the medicinal part of things, he’d had to learn everything over time.

Bull had been the first to fall victim to a horrible stitching job. Ralph had brought him lunch for a week after he saw the scar when he took the stitches out. Thankfully, the man learned quick and was quite reliable.

“Thanks, Perc.”

Don’s one and only concern was them, and reluctantly, Alex limped away from the excitement and the new additions to their kingdom. He and Skip were herded around the side of the castle where Spina’s cottage and garden sat. It was surprisingly cut off from everyone despite being right outside of the castle, hidden away in the sunniest corner of the castle and the most optimal for growing plants.

Don reached the herbalist’s door first and gave three quick knocks. There was a crash from inside of which Alex decided something definitely had broken. A loud swear confirmed his theory and moments later the door was swung open.

“What?” Ralph demanded, dark circles under his eyes. “Oh. It’s you. Come in!”

The cottage turned herbalist chambers was an absolute mess. Plants sat in various corners in all states of health, glass vials and wooden boxes covered nooks and crannies. Books sat upon books, some open, some stacked up near the bed. There was hardly any room for Ralph, let alone all of the shit he kept around.

“You got my flowers?”

“Yeah. Alex and Skip need patching up.” Don reported and carefully removed the flowers from his pouch at his belt. “We left some just like you instructed.”

“Good, this is hard to come by.” Ralph sighed. “Please tell me that isn’t an arrow stuck in your shoulder.”

“I would, but you’ll find it eventually.” Skip found a place on the bed and, having been in several times to get an injury looked at, slowly removed his tunic. The wound looked much worse now that Alex could see the damage. He swallowed against the guilt. “It’s lodged in there pretty good. Don couldn’t pull it out.”

“Shit.” Spina hissed and bent forward to poke and prod. Alex’s view was blocked and so he looked guiltily to Don, who only cleared off a chair and motioned for him to sit, expectantly. Alex reluctantly did as directed and rolled up the left sleeve of his tunic. The cut wasn’t so bad, but his thigh was still on fire and he was half worried an infection might set in. The bastard had gotten him with his sword and those were the worst wounds when it came to infection.

“Someone get me a knife.”

Alex paled as Don unsheathed his own and handed it over to him. Skip didn’t bother to muffle the curses and whimpers and the occasional shout of pain as Ralph dug into skin to get the arrowhead out of his shoulder. It was bloody and took longer than anyone was comfortable with, but Ralph pulled away, finally, with an arrowhead barely attached to the splinters of what used to be the shaft of the arrow.

“Gotta stitch it.” Ralph muttered. He straightened up and blinked once, twice, looked a bit confused, and then shook his head. He dropped the arrowhead on a stack of books and waved his fingers around as he stumbled here and there. “Where did I put the damn needle?”

“Hey, Ralph, are you feeling alright?” Alex asked. “You look a little…”

“Fine, I’m fine.” Ralph muttered. “The king’s just down my throat for that tincture. I’ve been waiting on you guys for days.”

“Ralph, it’s only been two days.” Don told him, slowly, deliberately. “Have you slept?”

“Haven’t really had time.” Ralph admitted and cursed when he stubbed his toe. “I’ve been running back and forth between the castle and the outskirts of town. How the hell did Pepping find the time do all of this?”

“He found the weed.” Skip groused. “Why doesn’t the king appoint you some sort of help?”

“Who the hell is gonna help me?” Ralph growled and rifled through a box before pulling out a needle. “Finally found it. Look, there’s no one who even has a sliver of knowledge about all this and I’m swamped with work. I don’t have time to teach anybody this shit, so appointing me a helper is nonsense.”

“You’re sleeping after this. I’ll go to the king personally.” Don ordered. “We’re not losing another herbalist to lack of sleep.”

“I’m fine.” Ralph stressed and squeezed past Alex to get to Skip, still sat on the bed. Blood had dribbled down the wound in his shoulder to skirt past his nipple. Alex resisted the urge to wipe it away. “I just need to get this sickness under control and I’ll be able to rest.”

Don gave Alex a very pointed look. Alex understood and nodded. “Go.”

Don squeezed his shoulder and slipped out of the small cottage. Spina didn’t even seem to notice, focused more on stitching Skip back together. When the thread was tied off and Skip pulled his tunic back on, Alex rolled his sleeve back down. It wasn’t deep enough to require stitches and it would heal just fine on its own. His thigh, however…

He unlaced his britches and shimmied them off, ignoring the distaste on Ralph’s face as he did so. Unlike Skip, who practically enjoyed the show, Ralph’s attentions were more directed to the fairer sex. Ralph’s hands were cold when they met his leg and he jolted from the shock of it. It didn’t bother Ralph at all. He simply wet a cloth, poured a bit of wine into the wound—which hurt like a bitch and Alex certainly didn’t whine in pain—and cleaned it up. The needle was back out and Alex spent the next few minutes clenching his teeth and fists and tried not to move. A snip and the thread was cut and tied off.

“Put your britches on.” Ralph told him, shaking his head. “You could have tried a little harder not to get hurt, you know. I sent you into peaceful lands.”

“Not peaceful enough.” Skip sighed and rubbed lightly at his shoulder. “Some Stognians decided to try and kill us.”

“Stognians?” Ralph muttered, brows furrowed in confusion. “What the hell were they doing over the mountains?”

“Didn’t bother to ask.” Alex laced his britches up and pulled his tunic down over them. “We were too busy fighting for our lives and your precious flowers.”

“Flowers, right. You got ‘em?”

“Yeah, we got ‘em. Hey, Ralph, why don’t you just lay down, alright? Alex and I’ll put ‘em in a safe place for you.”

Ralph rubbed at his forehead and made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat. “Can’t do that. King needs that tincture right away.”

“Don’s talking to the King. You just lie down, alright?”

It took a joint effort, but eventually they crowded Ralph into his bed, tucked him in, and locked his door. Alex sat on the step in front of the door and leaned back against it. He shivered slightly and a moment later, Skip was next to him, leaning into him. Alex curbed the itch to kiss the man.

“Three…” Alex muttered.

“Yeah, who would’ve guessed, huh? We may yet be saved after all.”

“If they can reverse it. Who knows what will happen? That one didn’t look like he was willing to help.”

“You know Winters, he’s got a way with people. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

Alex didn’t have the heart to argue. Somehow, he knew. These men didn’t have the power to help them. If they were true magic users there was nothing to convince them to use their power to help them. Even if they were willing to help, that witch’s magic is strong, too strong for some weak mage to break. If they were going to break the curse, they would need someone far more powerful than a handful of men who were captured and brought in. Winters had to know that.

Don didn’t return. Alex and Skip waited until sundown at the doorstep turning anyone without a life threatening emergency away from Spina’s door. Then, when the sun dipped below the gates, they wandered in to find some dinner. The dining hall for knights and castle guards and all manner of men who didn’t have a title attached to their name was abuzz. Men spoke openly to one another about the magic users, about what they’d heard had transpired up in the king’s quarters.

“I heard one of ‘em’s a fake.” Hashey slurred, one too many tankards at his place at the table. “Wendy told me she heard him from outside, while doing the laundry.”

“S’what I heard too.” Alex heard from someone he’d never seen before. His hair was red, similar in color to Don’s. “Bill said this group of men just showed up with ‘im wanting money. He said the guy’s been saying he’s not really a magic user the whole damn time they were cartin’ him in.”

“Guarnere said? Must be true.”

“Hey, you guys seen Don?” Skip piped up, snagging Hashey’s half empty tankard. “He went to see Winters and hasn’t come back yet.”

“He’s probably still there.” Perconte shrugged. “Spiers, Guarnere, Toye, and Martin, are all still up there with ‘em. Maybe they’re fixin’ this shit right now.”

“I hate the waiting.” Garcia complained. “Can’t stand it.”

“Shut up, Garcia. You ain’t even been in this for half a year.” Cobb snarled. “Until your balls are as blue as the rest of ours, you just shut up and sit still.”

“C’mon Cobb,” Sisk huffed, “it’s probably worse for him. He’s still waiting on his first.”

The hall erupted in laughter and Alex grinned. Garcia turned red and hunched lower in his seat. Drinks were raised and toasted and Alex found himself drinking along, speculating on who these mysterious men were and what kind of impact they’d have on the kingdom.

Dinner was eaten, the drinks had stopped flowing, and still no one moved from the dining hall. Skip had fallen asleep, propped up in a corner as he lightly snored away. Alex couldn’t find it in himself to sleep. Even with the alcohol lulling him into a drowsy state, he couldn’t stop thinking about the three men in the wagon and that he hadn’t seen Don in over three hours. Just when he thought about getting up to go investigating himself, the pitter patter of boots on the stone stairs leading down from the second floor to the dining hall had everyone who was still conscious eagerly awaiting the news.

Don grinned at the doorway at the attention. “Hello gents.”

“Get on with it, Malarkey!”

“Stop fucking around!”

“Is it broke?”

Don sniffed and rubbed at his nose, a coy way of trying and failing to hide the still present grin. “I wasn’t there for most of it—”

“Bullshit!” Cobb snapped.

“Out with it already!”

“Curse is still there.” Don told them and shoulders slumped and fists pounded tables. “I was stuck waiting outside, but from the sounds of it, things were going well. There wasn’t as much yelling.”

“So, what? They working on a fix right now?”

“Dunno. I told you, I was stuck outside. All I know is that they’ve been led to the dungeons for now. Oh and Winters wants—Heffron?—and Perco up to see him. Best of luck, boys.”

“What for?” the redhead Alex had spotted earlier asked as he stood from his spot at the table.

“Don’t ask him, he don’t know nothin’. C’mon.” Perconte sighed, adjusted the sword at his belt and led a very concerned Heffron past Don and up the stairs.

“So what’d you say to Winters, then?” Skip asked sleepily from his corner.

“Gave Nixon the writing, told Winters Spina needed an assistant of some kind.” Don shrugged. “He just told me to get Perco and Heffron up there.”

“Who knows, then.” Skip allowed Don to help him up and smiled lovingly at him. “Let’s get the fuck to bed.”

“You know we can clearly see that you’ve fucked, you lucky bastards.” Hashey complained.

“You want to go pick some flowers with your girl, go right ahead.” Alex huffed. “You can come limping back with an arrow to the shoulder and stitches in your leg.”

“Well? Was it at least good?” Smokey drawled.

The three of them only grinned and bid goodnight. There were at least three unsavory names thrown at them on the way out. Their quarters in particular were further out than most of the knights and castle guard. It was mostly because they were loud before the curse put a stop to that, but also because the quarters on each end were the largest. So, being the only trio in the land, they staked claim to one and Spiers took the other. Most the of the men had their own, preferring privacy. Others shared out of the need for companionship.

Alex limped the long walk down the torch lit corridor and sighed happily when Don creaked open the wooden door. They didn’t have much furniture; three beds—because the one they shared was far too dangerous now—took up three corners of the room, a small table for them to play cards or write missives sat in the center of the room, a few extra chairs around for their many visitors on days off, and a wardrobe against the last empty wall where they haphazardly shoved extra tunics, arrows, and booze, for those nights where they either came too close to death, had to say goodbye to a friend, or needed to celebrate.

He flopped heavily into the bed on the right. They rotated every new moon because two of the beds were between the fireplace and the last was next to the small window. The window was great for summer and that was the most coveted bed during those months. But as the weather was starting to cool, the beds near the fireplace were the hot commodity. There had been far too many arguments before the system was put in place.

“Do you really think they can do it?” Alex mumbled into his pillow.

Don yawned and leaned his quiver and bow against his bed frame. “It’s hard to say. I don’t even know what they can do individually.”

“Is one a fake?” Skip hissed as he pulled off his boots. Alex reluctantly pulled himself up to do the same.

“Guess not.” Don shrugged. “I told you, I was locked out.”

“You overheard some, though. Had to.” Alex accused lightly, grunting as he worked one of his boots off. “Those doors are thick but the walls aren’t. You heard more than you’re willing to say.”

“I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.” Don admitted, and Alex noticed the pointed way he wasn’t looking at either of them. “I don’t think Winters does either.”

“And just what could get our hopes up?” Alex pressed. “None of them looked that powerful. If the knights could catch ‘em—”

“Maybe not a single one is as powerful as that witch,” Don spoke slowly and turned look Alex in the eye. “But together they might be. I heard Winters strike a deal with them.”

“A deal?” Skip muttered. “What do we have to offer? Not killing ‘em outright is as good a deal as they could ask.”

“I don’t know.” Don itched at the mark on his neck. “But they must have agreed. If not, we’ll watch them burn tomorrow.”

“Seems a damn shame to burn away a chance to get out of this.”

“Can’t trust them. Not after what she did.” Alex pulled off his other boot and rolled onto his side, pulling the wool blanket over him as he did. “East Sea should have followed the rest of the world and started burning them up before this misery was set upon us.”

“Alex.” Don warned.

“Tell me I’m wrong, then.” Alex sniffed. “Tell me that her life is worth more than being able to kiss you, to hold you, _to love_.”

Don couldn’t.

 

* * *

 

A knock roused them and Alex groaned into his pillow. Another knock came, louder. When none of them bothered to answer, the knock turned into a pounding and Alex snarled a stream of curses before unlocking the door and throwing it open, ready to give whoever the hell it was a serious tongue lashing for disturbing them after a quest. The mead’s side effects lingered, causing his head to pound his stomach to flip.

It was Nixon, and that was the only reason why Alex didn’t threaten to shove an arrow into his eye and wordlessly stepped aside to let him in.

“Sorry to disturb you when you’ve just come back, but I need to know where you got this.” Nixon held a piece of parchment between two fingers as he entered, placing it gently on the table in the center of the room.

Don groaned as he pulled himself out of bed, Skip just rolled over in an attempt to go back to sleep. Alex blinked and stared blearily at the paper. He recognized the coal scrawled loops and squiggles from the cave.

“A cave, just beyond our borders.” Alex answered, voice raspy in the morning air.

Nixon raised a brow. “A cave?”

“Yeah. It was small, in the back. Glowed when I shone a torch over it.”

“Glowed.” Nixon echoed and squinted at the scrawl. “Magically or like shiny stones?”

“Magic.” Don confirmed. “Wouldn’t have noticed if it didn’t. I couldn’t get it to do it again after the first time.”

“And this is all it said?”

“Yeah. It was carved into the back of the cave.”

“Hm.”

“What’s it mean?” Alex asked and shivered. The breeze that blew in was unwelcome in his state of undress.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Nixon murmured. “I can’t read it.”

“I did my best—”

“No, not that.” Nixon interrupted with a slight shake of his head. “I can’t understand it.”

“When is Webster coming back?”

“Soon, if he sticks to the roads.”

Alex decided that these questions were more for Don and shuffled back to his bed. His thigh protested as he crawled back into warmth and comfort, but he ignored the ache and shivered underneath the blanket. Hazily, he listened to Don and Nixon go back and forth.

“—any of them can read this, we’re going to need you to lead them to where you found this.”

“I might have some trouble remembering exactly, but I know it wasn’t too far off from our path down. We’ll be able to find it.”

“Good. Well, until we can get this sorted out, rest up. You deserve it.”

“Yeah. Oh, hey.”

“What?”

“We ran into some Stognians on the way down here. I didn’t get the chance to tell you last night.”

“Oh, right. Can’t say I’m surprised. Stogne is in chaos right now.”

“What? Why?”

Nixon heaved a sigh. “The king was found dead. All I know is that once the next king takes the throne we’re probably going to get a lot of shit heading our way. Be extra careful when you’re out of our lands.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, you were unlucky enough to catch the first batch of bastards looking to expand their territory.”

The door was shut, thankfully, and Alex was reminded of how much he loved Don when the archer threw a fresh log into the fireplace and started a fire. The rest of the morning was spent sleeping in and retaining as much heat as possible until they actually decided to get up and start the day, which wasn’t until well past lunchtime. Alex took full advantage of his day off, even if it meant being left out of the gossip of the morning.

 

* * *

 

“I’m just sayin’, Joe, that it makes no goddamn sense to have us watch the fuckers when we were the ones who got ‘em in the goddamn first place!”

Guarnere’s voice was entirely unique, a mix of Phi’leean accent with Eastee thrown in. It was unmistakable, especially when the man was complaining about one duty or another. Alex tried his best to give a sympathetic look to the knights as he halted their traipse through the halls.

“Hey, Bill, you got any news on those magicks?”

Guarnere’s scowl deepened and Alex realized that he may have picked the wrong time to stop the men. “If I have to answer this one more fuckin’ time—”

“Alright, alright.” Alex waved him off. “We’ve been cooped up—”

“Lazy bastards.” Toye muttered, equally unimpressed. “Like you’ve been forced to sleep the fuckin’ day away while the only guys doing actual fuckin’ work around here are slaving away.”

“You know what, nevermind.” Alex tried not to take it personally. The knights had all been in a fowl mood, grumbling to each other under their breath as they marched to and fro. Winters had them doing god knows what and someone else would fill him in.

“Yeah, real fuckin’ typical. You saw the marks on Malarkey. That’s some bullshit right there—” Guarnere’s voice faded as they marched away and Alex shook his head and took a deep breath.

The next person he saw happened to be Hoobler, cheese in hand. He waved him over and tried not to look so conspiratal. “Hey, Hoob, you got any news on the magicks?”

Hoobler nodded and swallowed. “Yeah, you probably saw Guarnere and Toye, right? The knights are all on guard duty while Winters figures out what to do with ‘em.”

“What do you mean? I thought they made a deal?”

Hoob shook his head. “That’s what I thought too, but I overheard Lipton and Speirs on their way up to the king’s chambers. They struck a deal but haven’t figured out what do with ‘em until they can reverse the curse. Can’t just let ‘em out, ya know? They’d hurt somebody.”

“More like somebody’d hurt them.” Alex scrunched his nose in distaste. He remembered the cursing and the snarling from one of the magic users the day before. He’d be the first one to go if any threat of harm came to those working in the castle. “Guess we don’t need to cut down pyre wood, huh?”

Hoobler laughed. “Guess not. Hey, I gotta get back to my rounds. Don’t tell Joe I took some cheese. You owe me for the info.”

“Yeah, sure.” Alex agreed. He wondered how much Skip and Don had managed to get from the maids or maybe the other knights. Hoobler was one of the biggest gossips around, so he couldn’t wait to impress Skip with all that he’d gotten in so short a time.

It turned out, Skip had far better information than he did. Eyes alight, Skip tightened the string of his bow and proudly announced; “Guess who’s back from his grand book adventure?”

“That was fast.” Alex frowned. “I know he took a horse, but it’s only been two weeks. Did he even sleep?”

“Who cares? Nixon said none of them could translate that writing. But, with any luck, Webster can find it in those books he stole.”

“That’s means we’re going back out, you know.” Alex pointed out flatly. “We only just got back.”

“It means I get to have more of you.” Skip drawled, but promptly hissed and grabbed at his shoulder.

“It’s too soon.” Alex told him and shook his head. “I’m still a gimp and you’re practically useless until that arm heals up.”

“Okay, so we give it a week.” Skip grunted, taking in a sharp breath through his nose. “We’ll be back to normal and ready to ride.”

“I hate taking the horses.”

“Webster isn’t going to walk it.”

“If he’s going with us he will. There’s too much steep terrain for the horses and we have to stop every couple of hours to rest the horses anyways. It would be faster to just travel by foot.”

“I’d rather take longer.” Skip muttered. “One night wasn’t enough. Not after so long.”

Alex sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t for me, either.”

“Well, that’s what we have those three for.”

“If they can do anything.” Alex snorted. He’d been skeptical of the plan from the start. What they needed to do was find the damn witch and kill her. As long as she was alive the curse would rule over them.

“Have you talked to Martin?” Alex shook his head and Skip whistled lowly. “I tell you, those boys have been put through the wringer just to get those magicks back here.”

“They looked fine.”

“They’re not hurt, no.” Skip scoffed. “But two of them aren’t just dabblers into the craft. One of them is a natural borne.”

Alex’s face paled. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” Skip’s eyebrows arched. “That’s what I said. The other one has got a thing for magical items. Knows every single one by name and use.”

“So Don was right.” Alex mumbled. “Together, maybe they can.”

“Maybe.”

“I love you.” Alex blurted. It seemed to bubble up from nowhere but the hope he was feeling made his mouth move before he could think about it. Skip stared at him with wide eyes, jaw dropped slightly. “I do. I always have. Don, too.”

“I—yeah, I do too.” Skip stammered.

“So if they can’t—if things go to shit let’s just go. We’ll settle down somewhere else and—”

“No.” The voice came from the doorway, and Alex whirled around to see Don standing there with the most serious expression he’d ever seen. “I’m not leaving.”

“Don…” Alex started, but he didn’t know quite what to say. He hadn’t really been thinking in the first place. He’d just let his feelings run his mouth and now that he’d said it shame burned at his cheeks.

“Before you… before either of you this place was here for me.” Don’s eyes never averted, no matter how much Alex’s did. “I won’t just leave it like this. We’ll fix it, I know we will, but if we don’t then you’ll have to go without me.”

“Don, that’s not what—”

“I don’t blame you.” Don cut off, soft, but bitter. “It’s been a long time and we can’t even touch each other. It’s not fair to ask you to stay with me, so I’ll understand if you go. It doesn’t change how I feel. Not about you and not about East Sea.”

“We aren’t going to leave you.” Skip assured, tone equally soft. “I think the news got Alex a little excited.”

“I didn’t—I don’t know what I was saying, but it wasn’t that.” Alex admitted, because it wasn’t. “I want to be with _both_ of you. I want to love you both, and if that means from far away, that’s okay with me.”

“Just… don’t let me hold you back.”

Alex swallowed and curled his lips into his best impression of a smile. “I don’t think you could hold either of us back if you tried.”


	2. Whelve

_Whelve - to bury something deep; to hide_

 

Ron grunted with the effort it took to scale the stone wall. Honestly, he wondered how he hadn’t been caught yet, considering he’d torn a large chunk of the stone out to heave himself up higher on the castle wall. His muscles strained painfully as he pulled himself up another foot to reach the edge of a balcony that overlooked the forest at the back of the castle. One last burst of effort had him up and over the barrier and he tried to land as softly as he could. It was the dead of night, but from what he’d heard of this king, he was known to retire late in the evening. There was still a chance he was awake and would notice the intruder lurking outside.

The door to the balcony was made of glass and iron, allowing Ron a very valuable look to the happenings inside. A fireplace at the far end of the room glowed meekly with dying embers, wardrobes lined the walls with intricate carvings, and paintings of the king and likely his predecessors hung on what little space was left of the walls. The bed was large, claiming the focal point of the room. The actions of the occupants of the bed were very clear and Ron allowed himself to smirk. It was the perfect opportunity to catch the bastard off guard.

With deft fingers, Ron slowly pulled the door open. As expected of a king’s door, not a sound was made and he crept in with one hand around the hilt of his sword. The sounds of grunts and moans masked the sound of his sword slipping from its sheath. He was only a couple of feet from the bed, at the king’s back and largely unnoticed, when the man straightened and shuddered.

The king gasped just as Ron ran him through violently at the base of his neck. He pulled his sword back out quickly to avoid the blood dribbling down his sword toward the hilt, and ultimately his clothes and hands.

The motion pulled at the dying man and he choked and gurgled as he toppled to the stone floor with a wet _thunk_. Ron sidestepped him and took in the sight before him. There was a man on his elbows on the bed; he was bare, thin, and looked only slightly taken aback by the events that had just enfolded. His eyes and hair were dark, his skin was pale as snow but colored with various degrees of bruising at his hips, his arms and wrists, and his neck.

The man met his eyes, void of anything.

There was a clinking that tore Ron from the man’s eyes and down to the foot of the bed. Gold glinted from the footboard in the soft glow of a fire still clinging to life. He reached out and took hold of the source of the clinking; a gold chain, not thin like one would find in jewelry, but thick, like one used to tame dogs and cattle where rope wouldn’t do the trick. He tugged gently at the chain and while one end was clearly connected to the bed, the other was attached to some sort of cuff around the man’s ankle.

 _So it’s true._ He thought as he pieced the scene together.

Rumor had it the king had no heir and no wife to bear him one. The king had no interest in that sort of thing, he’d been assured by the innkeeper just South of the castle. The only thing the king cared about was the precious treasure he’d inherited from his father three years prior; a treasure stolen from Zana itself.

It had taken several drinks and a couple of hours to finally get the confirmation that this treasure was no shiny object, but a man. A disappointment to many, but to Ron a rare chance.

It took several strokes of his sword, but the chain was severed eventually. The man never made a sound, hardly flinched at all when Ron raised his sword. That done, Ron stepped over the king’s corpse and around to the side of the bed. He pulled at the man until he was stood up, wobbling on unsteady legs.

With disgust, Ron remembered what he’d interrupted just a moment before. Still, the man made no sound. He made no attempt to run or fight, and Ron might have found it odd had he not known what the man was. He spent only a minute hunting down some form of clothing to shove at the man. It was far too galant and expensive to not draw suspicion, but it wouldn’t matter.

“Put it on.” He ordered quietly.

The man was slow to do so and Ron clicked his tongue in agitation. He’d gotten this far without much trouble, but he didn’t want to spend any unnecessary time in this wretched kingdom.

While he waited for the man to finish dressing he glanced around the room and pocketed anything of value he could stuff in the pouches along his belt. If this didn’t work, he’d need something to make the trip worth it. On the side tables he found rings and necklaces, gaudy looking, but full of precious jewels and made of valuable metals. He didn’t have much room, so he couldn’t pocket the crown, but swiftly he pulled a knife from his belt and picked out a few rubies that were set into the gold band. It would have to do since he was short on time and space.

When the man was dressed Ron unhooked the rope he kept at his belt and looped it around the man’s wrists in front of him. He wasn’t fighting, but Ron wasn’t willing to take any chances, not with where they would be going. The man’s lips thinned and while there wasn’t an ounce of hope that Ron could see in him, there was a change in his body language. His back stiffened and his eyes narrowed.

Ron thought about gagging him, just as a precaution, but he looked too weak to be much of a threat and he had wards in his belt and pack.

He tugged at the rope in lieu of speaking and pulled the man out to the balcony. He’d used his raw strength to climb up, but getting back down was an entirely different story, especially with a man who couldn’t even stand up properly. He should have planned better, but he didn’t dwell on his mistake and instead left the man on the balcony to tug at the cord that pulled back thick velvet curtains. It wasn’t the best fix, but it was long enough to do the job.

He tied one end around the balcony itself and threw the rope off of the edge. It only measured three quarters of the way, but Ron was confident that the landing wouldn’t kill them. Some bruises most likely, but they’d live.

“Put your arms over my head.” He told the man and waited expectantly.

The man didn’t move an inch, just stared at him blankly. With another irritated click of his tongue he grabbed the man’s arms and maneuvered them himself up and over his head. It put a lot of weight and pressure around his neck, but the descent would be quick. He pulled on his leather gloves and grit his teeth.

It took a lot more effort to balance both of them out as he swung them over the balcony and slid down the rope. He’d nearly lost his grip a few times, but it took only two minutes to reach the end of the rope. He didn’t say anything to prepare the man at his back for the fall, just let go of the rope and hoped for the best as they crashed to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind out of him and it was a struggle to breathe with the man’s arms still around his neck. He coughed and gasped for air for a minute before sliding the man off of his back. When he could breathe properly again he inspected his captive.

The man’s eyes were squeezed closed in what Ron recognized as pain, but after a quick pat down he came to the conclusion that he hadn’t broken any bones. He pulled the man back to a stand and grabbed hold of the piece of rope he’d left out as a sort of leash. He tugged at the rope and led the man into the forest behind the castle in the dark.

The man stumbled more often than not, but Ron didn’t have to deal with it for long. His horse, gray and white, snorted at their approach. He helped the man up on the horse first, then mounted behind him and snapped the reins.

It was odd, to have complete silence when kidnapping someone from a castle. He wasn’t one to complain, but he expected to have to silence him or at the very least threaten him into submission. The man was pliant and cooperative and it was unnerving. Even still, Ron never let down his guard. Even a beaten dog could still bite and Ron expected a bite to come at any time. They rode through the night because Ron wasn’t going to be sleeping anyway and the faster he reached his destination the better.

The sun peeked up over the hills and it was a relief to be able to properly see the terrain ahead. His horse became uncooperative halfway up the mountain and reluctantly Ron dismounted to give the horse water and a break. The man just sat upon the horse in silence and watched him.

“You’re far more cooperative than I thought you’d be.” Ron told him and patted at his horse’s neck with affection.

There was no reply, just a blank stare.

“What’s your name?” He didn’t care, but if he needed to track him down for any reason, it was valuable information to have.

Still, Ron received no reply. There was a flask of water in his bag and he uncorked it and took a couple of swigs. He held it out for the man to take after. The man did, slowly, and when he was done drinking, he passed it back, hands still bound together in front of him.

He led the horse to a stream of water and when it had its fill, he mounted again and continued up the mountains. It took hours and by midday they reached the summit. He knew the paths by heart and led his horse deeper into the wooded mountainside, down the other side and along a very particular path where trees refused to grow.

The air was different in this place, something hot and stuffy. The hair on his arms and neck stood straight up and his horse grew fussy, but still he urged it onward. Dead grass tapered off into black rock and the mountain dipped into somewhat of a valley. When his horse whined and kicked he dismounted and tied the reins around a jagged boulder.

“Come.” He told the man and held out a hand to help steady him as he dismounted rather clumsily.

When his captive was on the ground he led him deeper still, over black rock and into the mouth of a cave that stood fifty feet tall. He didn’t need to continue in. What lay beyond the mouth was far too dangerous to encroach upon.

He wrapped the rope around his fist three times and tightened his grip before he called out; “I’ve come with my payment!”

Hot air came fast and hard from the mouth of the cave, blowing his hair back and stinging his face with the heat. His captive raised his hands to cover his own face as steam quickly followed, rising from the mouth. A low rumbling followed, deep and predatory. Ron stood tall, unaffected by the sound. The man beside him stiffened, eyes wide and breath quickened. It was the most emotion he’d seen from the man since he’d taken him from the castle.

 **_“You’re early.”_ ** The voice that came was unearthly, loud and hissing. It was deep, far deeper than a human could speak and with it came more hot air. Then, in the dark of the cave two golden orbs glowed.

“You’re complaining?”

 **_“Don’t be clever, boy.”_ ** Emerging from the dark came sharp teeth, large nostrils, and red scales. The mouth of the dragon opened and snapped shut with another threatening growl. Ron knew it was a warning, a show to frighten him. He was unimpressed. Years of the beast had taught him what he could get away with.

He tugged at the rope and pushed the man forward harshly. The man stumbled and once his balance was regained he stood frozen in front of the dragon’s mouth. Still, not a sound came from him.

 **_“What’s this? A snack?”_ ** the beast snorted and sniffed.

“The last Zanian.” Ron told it confidently.

The moment the words were spoken both man and beast turned to look at him. The beast’s golden eyes flickered with interest and it moved with another rumble, dipping its head to get closer to the man. The man didn’t pay the dragon any mind, dark eyes sharp as they met Ron’s own. Ron saw only flickers of emotion play across his face—anger, surprise, acceptance—before he turned away.

 **_“Is this all you’ve brought me?”_ ** The dragon huffed and opened its mouth to blow hot air at them.

Ron swallowed his anger and flatly responded; “This is more than enough.”

 **_“I don’t accept broken things.”_ ** The dragon snarled and snapped its teeth again. It rumbled deep in its throat, something like a growl, and with its nose pushed the man over. He fell onto his side but made no move to get up. **_“Even he knows you are a fool.”_ **

“Explain.” He demanded and resisted the urge to curl a hand around his sword.

The beast growled again and opened its mouth. Steam trickled past teeth sharper than any sword and once the long hiss ended it snapped its mouth shut. **_“He has no magic.”_ **

Ron snapped his eyes to the man, laid staring up at the red scaled dragon. That wasn’t possible. It was said that every Zanian held dark magic. The people thrived in magic and twisted it to do their bidding.

It didn’t make any sense. The information he’d gotten was from a reputable source.

“He has it.” Ron bit out. “He’s hiding it from you.”

The dragon laughed, a sound he’d only heard a few times and only in absolute dread. **_“Tell me, boy, what you know of magic.”_ **

Ron didn’t dignify the question with an answer. The dragon sneered and loomed over Ron to peer down at him from above, revealing a long scaled neck as it did.

 **_“Because you are a fool, I am willing to forgive this.”_ ** The beast huffed, sending a gust of hot air into his face. He squinted against the unpleasant sensation. **_“Do not disappoint me again.”_ **

Ron patiently waited for an explanation of some sort, but the dragon only pulled back and leered down at the man, instead, turning it’s head this way and that to peer at him. Golden eyes glinted and it bared its teeth at him.

**_“I want to hear it sing."_**

The dragon growled again as it retreated back into its cave. When Ron could only see the glowing golden orbs from within watching him, he stalked forward and pulled the man from where he still lay on the ground. With a hard tug at the rope, he pulled the man away from the mouth of the cave and back over rock to his horse, tugging hard at the reins.

Anger rippled through him. He’d wasted an entire week tracking this man down, plotting to steal him from the king, and imagining the look on the beast’s face when it’d seen what Ron had brought him. But past the anger came questions. Why the man didn’t say a word of protest, despite the rough treatment, why the king shared a bed with him, why the only thing that kept the man from leaving that castle was a shitty golden chain—

Another thought occurred to him and he spun around to face the man, dropping down to his feet, bare and cut up from the rock Ron had led him over and through. Still attached to his right ankle was the thick golden cuff. Ron had missed it in the dark, but along the cuff was an engravement—some sort of writing he couldn’t read. He thumbed along it thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes.

“Is this why you can’t use magic?” He asked and flicked his eyes up.

The man looked coldly back down at him. Ron snorted, of course he wouldn’t bother to confirm. The second Ron figured out how to get the cuff off, he was going back to that dragon. The cuff was made of gold, same as the chain, and with a little heat and a blade he could sever it right off. Or perhaps he’d just chop off the leg instead. The dragon wouldn’t care much, probably. He pushed the thought away, sure that the crafty beast would find some way to lower the value of his payment.

Damn the beast.

Another thought occurred to him and he frowned down at the cuff. That couldn’t be it; the dragon would just melt it or bite it off. Rising up to study the man, he crowded in and tried to get a reaction. The man just stood firm, eyes near unblinking as Ron leaned in close, almost intimately.

 **_“_ ** _I want to hear it sing_ **_.”_ **

So that was it.

He brought a hand up and pressed two fingers where the dip in the man’s collar bones met. “You’re a mute.”

No voice meant no spells, and for a witch from Zana it was practically a death sentence.

The man flicked his eyes to the side and Ron pressed in just a little harder, felt the man swallow uncomfortably. Beside the bruising there were no markings on his skin, no indication that a spell was blocking his voice. For now it was a mystery and obviously no easy fix. If a dragon couldn’t solve the problem itself, it was going to be a pain in the ass to do it. He had run out of time for this run.

Annoyed at the lost time, he backed away from the man and readied his horse. With an expectant look, he silently demanded the man to come. The man didn’t obey, eyes narrowed in what Ron interpreted as a challenge. He tugged hard at the rope and the man staggered forward, off balance. When the man didn’t move after that, he tugged again, harder, and the man reluctantly shuffled forward.

Ron helped him back up onto the horse and then mounted behind him, cursing the man who had drunkenly told of a king with a treasure from Zana.

He had no choice but the take the man back with him. He was too valuable to let loose or to feed to the dragon anyways. He’d need to bring something back to his men so that they wouldn’t ask questions.

Dark came around again and his horse was tired and his eyes stung with how long he’d been awake. Knowing the witch was powerless allowed him to tie the man to a tree opposite his horse and make camp for the night. It was too late to hunt and he had no food, so he started a fire to stave off what cold he could and drifted off against the trunk of another tree.

 

* * *

 

He awoke to scratching sounds. It was irritating and made his teeth hurt and he snapped his eyes open to locate the sound and kill the source, if he could. It was the man, still tied to the tree, scratching one rock against another. He watched in annoyance for a moment longer, while the other man hadn’t noticed he was awake. The scratching was meticulous, small strokes of a pointed end into the flat end of another.

The fire between them was still ablaze, startling, considering how long he’d been asleep. The sun was just now rising above the treeline, signifying that he’d slept for hours through the night. The scratching stopped, suddenly, and Ron watched the man smooth his fingers over the stone, blowing softly on it and rubbing it over again. Satisfied, the man grimaced in his effort to pocket the stone and then picked up another, tiny, and the scratching started up again.

Ron rose and the man stopped his scratching to observe him a moment, then promptly went back to scratching. Ron’s teeth ached again at the sound and he snapped at him to stop. The man did, stones held in limp hands. He made sure his horse had its fill of water before dousing the fire and untying the man from the trunk of the tree.

Before he led the man to his horse, he reached into the pocket of the expensive tunic the man wore—something they would have to rectify before he made it back to his men—and pulled out not one, but several stones. The man avoided his eyes, posture wary and tense. When he squinted down at the stones, he couldn’t understand the markings, but it was clear they were deliberate.

“What are these?” Ron demanded.

As always, he received no answer. Annoyed, he shoved the stones back into the man’s pocket. Without the threat of magic, he would leave the man to carve at stones all he wanted. They were back up on the horse and moving, slower than Ron would prefer, but he didn’t want to risk exhausting his horse.

There was a small town at the base of the mountains, on the southeast border of Stogne and East Sea. It was a trader’s town full of wares and shady dealers trying to get the best prices out of the people of both kingdoms. It would be easy to find new clothes for his captive.

He dismounted at the edge of town and tugged the Zanian down with him. The man stumbled, wincing when his feet hit the dirt, but Ron steadied him and pulled his wrists up. With deft fingers, he worked at the knots binding his wrists together. The town was full of traders, but slavery was outlawed in both Stogne and East Sea. If he were to ferry the man around as he was it would only spell trouble. As it was, the clothes he’d haphazardly shoved the man into were far too noble and would only garner them unwanted attention. He couldn’t leave him with the horse outside of town, either.

“Stay next to me.” He ordered curtly and led his horse by the reins into town. The Zanian followed, sullen, but obedient.

The town was loud, almost entirely a long alleyway of stalls that roped around. If a man wasn’t shouting to gain attention to his meat, a woman was howling about silks and gems. They pushed their way through until Ron found the first stall with clothing.

The stall owner was tall and skinny. He had a sparse beard, and large, round eyes. His teeth were horribly crooked and he smiled wide when Ron approached, doing his best to hide his captive behind him.

“Sir! Might I interest you in some fine clothes?”

“Give me the simplest you’ve got.” Ron told him and fished out a couple of copper coins from his coin purse.

“The simplest? Sir,” the man started, but Ron leaned in over the silks and leathers.

“The simplest.” He repeated again.

The man tsked and bent low, reaching into a basket to rummage through cloth. He came back up, a simple pair of brown britches and a blue shirt in hand. The shirt was thin, that much he could see, but the britches were of decent quality.

“That’ll be two silver, sir.”

Ron thought about intimidating the man for marking up the price, but he was in a hurry and he didn’t want any more attention than necessary. He took his copper back and fished out two silvers, slapping them heavily into the man’s outstretched hand. He took the clothes curtly and handed them off to the Zanian. Then, while the stall owner stared, bewildered at the two the of them, he led his horse back out of town.

There was talk behind them, loud gossiping that had Ron tugging the man next to him to go faster. When they reached the edge of town, out by the forest line, Ron ushered the man behind his horse.

“Get changed.”

The Zanian paused, something that only served to irritate him. He’d already seen the man naked, what little shame the man would have felt should’ve been gone. Then, in a swift motion, thin arms pulled off a shirt, and then unlaced the too large britches. Ron took the expensive silk shirt and the embroidered leather britches and shoved them into his pack. With any luck, he could sell them once the news of the King of Stogne’s death had gone and passed.

The man looked exactly as Ron had expected; plain and uninteresting. They would be able to move freely now. He took a moment as he helped the man back up on his horse to ponder on his fortune. It had been far too easy to take this man from the castle, but for him to end up useless was a nasty twist he hadn’t expected.

He could find some way to fix him, to restore his magic and drag him back to that beast as payment. But if he did that then he’d have to deal with a very dangerous magic user—one of which the world decided to eradicate for that very reason.

 _What to tell the king?_ Ron thought as he climbed up after the man, situating them for a more comfortable ride.

If he revealed the man’s identity, it would go one of two ways. Either Winters would decide to kill him and spare them all the danger, or he would see what Ron saw—opportunity. The Zanian could surely reverse the curse, but that would also require getting his magic back.

And the man now knew Ron’s greatest secret. That was far more dangerous than a bit of strong magic.

His mind spun as they rode. He could use that gaudy ankle cuff to his advantage, stir up some story that he rescued him from slavery up north. It wasn’t entirely untrue and the best lies always lay within half truths. He could continue to use the kingdom’s quest to reverse the curse to his advantage and possibly find a solution before the king himself. Once he restored the magic, he could use the man’s identity against him and force his cooperation.

Or he could use force. It had never failed him before.

It turned out, three hours of hard ride later, that it was his men— _his knights—_ they ran into on the road, empty caged wagon strolling alongside them. He’d instructed them to meet him in a small town by the name of Giagore in a week; and if he didn’t show, just like now, they were supposed to head back to the castle.

“Lip!” Ron heard Guarnere call out and brought his horse to a trot.

The wagon came to a halt and four men came to the back of the wagon to watch him approach. Guarnere and Toye squinted at him against the sunlight, surly grimaces donned their faces. Martin furrowed his brows, arms crossed as he leaned against the back of the wagon.

The last man looked near furious, stood straight backed with fists clenched. “Captain.”

He brought his horse as close to the back of the wagon as he could, pulling the reins hard to bring his exhausted horse to a stop. He dismounted first, leaving his captive to sit up on his horse and endure the stares.

“You’re late.” Martin groused and then jutted his chin up at the man on his horse. “Who’s this?”

“Magic user.” Ron answered curtly, but made no move to get the man down. “He doesn’t speak.”

No one seemed to know what to say. Then Lipton met his eyes and gave the clear command for him to follow. Ron gestured for the others to get the man down and into the wagon and followed. He knew Lipton wouldn’t be happy about his detour, but he didn’t come back empty handed.

When they were far enough away from the others—which didn’t matter, because frankly they were overheard anyways—Lipton rounded on him. They weren’t quite even height. Ron had a good few inches on him, but the way the man seethed and hissed at him, it was almost intimidating.

“What the hell were you thinking? You should have taken us with you!”

“I already told you—”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you told me, Ron.” Lipton snipped. “All of these secret errands you have to run for the king—I’m not buying it.”

Ron met his furious gaze evenly. “Take it up with the king, then. He’ll tell you exactly what I have.”

“He’s covering for you and I don’t know why,” Lipton cut himself off for a moment, looked down, then flicked his eyes back up to meet his. “But I thought you trusted me. Keep it from the others, fine, but I thought you knew I always have your back.”

“I could say the same for you.” Ron answered coldly. He tried to rapidly figure when, exactly, Lipton had him figured out. “The king trusted me to keep his business discreet. I’ve only honored that. I shouldn’t have to ask for your faith in addition to his.”

Carwood’s lips thinned, his jaw clenched. “Fine. When you’ve decided to trust me, you know where to find me.”

Lipton promptly brushed past him and oversaw that Ron’s Zanian captive was locked safely away in the caged wagon. The large iron padlock was shut with a metal clunk and Lipton avoided making eye contact with him as he took his place back at the driver’s seat of the wagon and snapped the reins. The wagon lurched and Ron watched it roll forward, catching eyes staring back at him.

The damn Zanian looked at him the same way Carwood had; like he knew that Ron was nothing but a web of lies. Ron stalked angrily back to his horse and pulled it along. It wasn’t the break he was hoping to give the horse, so he’d have to make do walking with the rest of them.

“Hey, Captain,” Martin piped up next to him, “where the hell did you find him?”

“North.” Ron answered.

“His tongue cut?” Guarnere inquired from ahead of them, on the right side of the wagon.

“Something like that.”

“At least we have something to bring back.” Toye sighed. “I’m tired of walkin’.”

Something was understatement, but Ron held his tongue and tried to figure out what exactly his story for the king was. Lipton would no doubt complain to Winters about Ron’s escape on his own, possibly demand answers. Winters was loyal though, and he would keep his end of the deal, even if it ended with a very unhappy Carwood Lipton. He would ask questions about the magic user—want to know where he was from, what kind of magic he could use, what kind of danger he posed to the kingdom.

As compliant as the Zanian was, Ron had to wonder just how much he would go along with his lies. If he was smart, he would run with the lies and avoid burning at the stake.

 

* * *

 

“Captain,” came a call, “a group of men approaches from the East. They have a prisoner.”

“Stop the wagon.”

His eyes carefully glanced out to the East, where a small crowd of men dragged a man wearing strange garb toward the wagon. Ron pulled his horse around, one hand on his reins, the other on his sword.

“Stop!” the order was barked, rough and threatening.

The men to the front of the group paused, but the three in the back restraining the man in strange clothing only dragged him to the front.

“We are of no threat, sirs.” One grunted. “We have a magic user to turn over to the king.”

Ron squinted in scrutiny at the men. The man they were struggling to restrain had a feeble look to him. He was panicked, confused, even, and Ron questioned the validity of the claim. It wouldn’t be the first time that a few greedy men tried to hand over a village nuisance to claim the reward the king had put out.

“It’s a mistake!” came a hurried cry, “I’m a performer, no magician!”

“Shut up!” Someone snapped. “We’ve seen it, he uses magic.”

“It’s an illusion, not—” the man grunted and curled in against the strike to his stomach.

“You’re wanting coin for him, then?” Ron asked, finished with the dramatics. He was tired and unwilling to bother with the proper testing.

“It is what the king promised.” was the answer, and the greed dripped from every word.

“Very well,” Ron sighed. He reached into his coin purse and grabbed a few gold coins. One of the men reached up immediately, grubby paws open and eyes alit. Ron practically recoiled in disgust as soon as the exchange was made and nodded to Toye and Guarnere. Martin used a key to open the oversized padlock and then the man in strange clothing was roughly shoved inside.

He was fairly handsome, with thick locks that flipped up in just the right way. He wore khol around his eyes, thick, and it gave the man a dark look about him. He wore a black leather doublet, definitely not in fashion and highly expensive for those in the kingdom. A sash made of thick magenta and gold braids cinched in his waist. He also wore several rings, a sign of wealth. His britches were black, tucked into leather boots.

The man righted himself just as the door to the wagon was once again closed, the padlock clunked heavily into place.

“It’s a mistake!” The man pleaded, and his fingers wrapped around the bars caging them inside. “I’m just a street performer!”

“You’re a liar!” one of the men hissed.

“Rot in hell, you bastard!”

“You’re lucky we didn’t burn you at the stake!”

“Enough. Move along.” Ron ordered and kicked his horse back the front of their small troupe.

The reins snapped audibly and the wagon jolted forward, sending the man claiming to be a street performer tumbling to the side. He caught himself on one of the benches that lined each side of the wagon and seated himself heavily upon it.

“You’ve seriously made a mistake here.” The man insisted. “I was just performing a trick. I could show you, prove my innocence even!”

“Shut up, magician.” Toye growled. “It’s a long journey back to the castle and I just want some damn peace.”

The man sulked and turned away from Toye. It was only then that he seemed to notice the other prisoner. His eyes lit up and he slid along the bench to approach him. Ron slowed his horse and kept a watchful eye.

“Hey,” the man said, “you believe me, right?”

The Zanian just stared blankly at him. Hopefully, that would be answer enough.

“He don’t talk.” Guarnere drawled from the opposite side of the wagon. “You might learn somethin’ from him.”

The man frowned at both of them before he mirrored the Zanian’s position in the corner and sulked. There were many potholes and after each jolt the street performer complained. It was clear Lipton had enough when he pulled hard at the reins.

“We should find a place to bed down for the night.” He advised in a clipped tone.

Ron let out a soft sigh. The sun had only just begun to set and they had a couple of hours of daylight left, but it would do better to allow Carwood to work out his anger. He pulled at his own reins.

“We’re stopping here for the night. Martin, grab us some firewood. Toye, watch the wagon. Guarnere, get started on something to eat.” The orders came fast and easy, with an almost bored intonation to them. He turned back to Lipton and tried to exude only a state of calm. “We should scout ahead.”

“I should stay.” Lipton disagreed. “Toye will need help keeping an eye on them.”

“All due respect, sir,” Toye interjected, “but I’ve got Guarnere.”

They both turned their eyes to Joe Toye, trying to put together exactly what the man had in mind by siding with Ron. Guarnere shifted, his sword clinking against the light chainmail he wore underneath the green tunic with East Sea’s sigil embroidered on the back.

“Joe’s right. We’ll take good care of ‘em.”

They all waited for Carwood’s answer and eventually the man sighed and nodded curtly. “Alright.”

Lipton unhooked one of the horses from the wagon and mounted it, ignoring the way they all took in every movement. Then there were two kicks to the horse’s flank and the two of them rode in silence farther down the road. There was a town a few miles away, one that they could have easily reached before nightfall, but a village gave rise to opportunity should either of their prisoners happen to escape.

It wasn’t the first time Carwood had been angry like this. Anytime Ron came back there was a bit of tension; a day of being questioned, then ignored, and finally resignation. This, however, felt different. Something about the way Carwood was seething had Ron wondering if there would be any resignation at all. It was one thing to flirt, to steal hidden glances and fantasize in the night. It was another entirely to be devoted.

Ron supposed he asked a lot of Carwood, to trust a liar without being suspicious. Had their positions been reversed, he wasn’t sure he’d be nearly as tolerant for as long as Carwood had been.

It was because of that very realization that he opened his mouth. “If I could tell you, I would.”

Carwood didn’t even look at him, just tugged at the reins and turned his horse around to go back the way they came. Ron hesitated before he did the same, giving a single kick to catch up to him.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I’ll believe you when I hear the truth.”

Ron gave another kick and maneuvered his horse to block Carwood’s, causing both horses to fuss and stamp. “When did you start to doubt me? What have I done to cause this suspicion?”

“You think I’m blind because I don’t speak loudly, because I don’t walk with my head held high and question every order I’m given that I don’t see when something isn’t all it’s supposed to be.” Carwood licked his lips, met Ron’s eyes with a steely gaze that Ron was wholly unfamiliar with. “But every four moons you ride off in the night to complete some unnamed errand for the king. For two years I’ve watched you, waited for the day that you would tell me what causes you to stress and wander the halls late at night in the days leading up to the errand. You leave pale, yet you come back with renewed vigor.”

He was right, Ron had underestimated just how observant Carwood was. He should have known by the way the man seemed to hone in on the needs of their men. He should have known something was wrong when the leader of the city guard insisted on going with him to find magic users. He’d been far too pleasantly surprised to have his company and distracted by the rumor to have seen it for what it was.

Carwood wasn’t blind, but Ron had been.

“I can’t tell you about the errand.” Ron reiterated, something near pleading. “So tell me what I can tell you to ease your worries.”

Carwood pursed his lips. “What is it that haunts you? If the king is sending you off, tell me it isn’t something that harms you.”

Ron’s heart clenched. “I’ve worried you.”

“Answer me, Ron.” Carwood demanded, but the coldness from before was gone.

“It is nothing that harms me,” Ron started, because in truth his run-ins with the dragon had never physically harmed him. “Just evokes memories of a time long ago passed. It brings me close to home.”

Understanding flicked across Carwood’s face. He’d told the man of the day of fire—of burnt flesh and snapping jaws and choking on smoke—back when mild flirting took a turn of real feelings. Carwood had listened with an open heart, had sat next to Ron as he drank his mead on the anniversary of the last he’d seen his family and said nothing, just as Ron needed him to. He would have kissed him that night, would have taken him to bed and forgotten about his family and the screams and the fire. He would have known love for the first time.

“I could suggest that I go—”

“No.” Ron shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not something anyone else can do. I’m fine. I’ve never let those memories take me from my duties.”

“Let me come with you. I’ll talk to the king, he owes me a favor.”

Ron quelled the panic. The deal struck between him and Winters remained. The king wouldn’t allow Carwood to interfere.

“Carwood—”

“Trust.” Carwood reminded sharply. “If you can’t tell me, then you’ll allow me to see for myself.”

Ron put on his best false smile. “If you must.”

“I must.” Carwood assured. “It’s been too long that you’ve been burdened alone.”

“A bit of company would be nice.” Ron admitted, and tried to calm his racing heart. It wouldn’t happen, of that he was sure. He could find a way to keep Carwood at the castle. He’d have to go back sooner than expected since the Zanian was a failed payment. Damn that beast.

“From the way you’ve been acting I was worried you hadn’t felt the same.”

Ron pulled his horse closer and leaned in close to murmur in Carwood’s ear; “I missed my opportunity while we were out of the kingdom.”

Carwood shivered and Ron grinned at the reaction. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”

“There is no doubt that I will.”

 

* * *

 

The night was fairly uneventful. Eventually the magician-claimed-street-performer shut the hell up and allowed all of them to rest. Toye and Guarnere gave knowing looks back and forth which Ron pointedly ignored as they readied in the morning. Martin looked as if he couldn’t care any less, far more interested in eying the men in the wagon.

“For managing to snag two of ‘em, it sure doesn’t feel as if we’re bringing back much.”

“Have a little faith, Johnny.” Guarnere complained. “Some of us want to kiss our girls when we get home.”

“Rub it in,” Toye grumbled as they walked.

It was a three hour march to the village that smelled of fresh bread and finely salted meats from the game in the surrounding forest. They couldn’t stay more than a few minutes to grab some provisions for the journey home, however. The longer they kept the magic users out in the open, the more of a threat they became.

Four more hours, past noon and heading into early afternoon, they were met with a familiar style of wagon, caged in with metal and carved out with symbols no one could read. Ron recognized the small group of men and frowned at the number. That party had gone out with twice as many men.

“Where is Heyliger?” Ron demanded.

“Had to leave him behind.” Jackson answered, young face pale and weary. “We’re all that’s left.”

“Shit.” Martin hissed under his breath.

Ron narrowed his eyes at the wagon. It contained only a single prisoner, bound at both hand and feet. He was skinny, lithe, and his garb wasn’t nearly the garash outfit that the performer wore, but the look in his eye was nothing but dangerous. Fury was coiled tight in every movement, not that he was allowed much.

“Good to see you were as successful as we were.” Miller offered a small upturn of his lips.

“Bring him back for us. We need to go back to get Moose.” Ranney hopped off of the stagecoach.

“He’s still alive?” Ron inquired, pulling his horse around to take stock of who was left in the worn down party.

“Far as I know,” Ranney grunted, twisting the key in the padlock. “Miller, Hall, grab him.”

The man inside immediately bared a snarl, hands fisted tightly in the ropes that bound him. Hall in went in first, a bit wary, but as soon as Miller jumped in the wagon behind him they moved quickly to grab him beneath the arms. Expletives followed immediately, along with gnashing teeth and spit. Ron motioned for Toye to open the back of their own wagon so they could throw him in.

“This one,” Hall grunted as the prisoner writhed, “is a fucking pain in the ass. Watch him close.”

“Asshole nearly bit Ranney’s throat out, so keep your distance.”

“Great, nice of you bastards to dump him on us.” Toye complained, keeping a close eye on their own prisoners as he held the door open.

“Shut it. You don’t have to go near as far as we do and you’re on your way back anyways!”

“Don’t mean shit when we’re the ones who gotta handle three of these fuckers.”

“Just get him in.”

The man was shoved far more roughly into the wagon than the performer was. He spit curses the entire way, even as he lay on his stomach.

“Just you fuckers wait!” The new prisoner spat. “I’ll show you a fucking bonfire.”

None of them even addressed him, just shut the door and locked it back up again. Ron pulled out his coin purse and tossed it to Ranney.

“Get Moose home.” he told him. “Leave the wagon. You’ve completed your mission, focus on your duty to him, now.”

“Thank you.” Ranney nodded and pocketed the small purse. “Good luck. Oh and—leave us a little credit, alright?”

Ron nodded and watched the three of them unhitch the two horses and mount up, taking off westward in a hurry. The wagon lurched into movement once more at Lipton’s snap of the reins.

“Real fuckin’ nice of ‘em.”

“Easy, Guarnere,” Carwood called back to the knight, “we’ve got our duty.”

“I’m just sayin’, Lip,” Guarnere grumbled back, “they coulda made the fuckin’ walk themselves.”

“We need to work fast on this. Let them do their job and we’ll do ours.”

Ron let the wagon pass, preferring to keep the prisoners in view for the last stretch of the journey. They had only hours before they made it back to the castle, and Ron was itching to just get it over with. There was a big difference between all three of his captives, and the latest one had him a bit wary.

“This is a fuckin’ crime.” The performer hissed to the other two in what Ron presumed was conspiratorial. “They don’t even have proof.”

“Says you.” The newcomer snarled. “I lit up a fair amount of those fuckers before they pinned me down.”

“Are you serious?”

“As my father’s fuckin’ grave.” The newcomer turned to lean his shoulder against the bars, eyes narrowing in on Ron.

Ron stared back, unintimidated.

“What’s your name?” The performer asked, hunched in with his elbows rested on his knees. It only reminded Ron that they hadn’t bound the other two. Then again, there hadn’t been a threat as of yet.

“Joe Liebgott.” The man turned back to face the two others. “And you?”

“George Luz.” The performer answered, a bit of flourish to the answer. Ron only doubted his validity even more.

“What about you?” The man by the name of Liebgott jutted his chin at the Zanian.

“He don’t fuckin’ talk.” Came the same drawl from Guarnere outside. “And for the last fuckin’ time, learn from him and shut the fuck up. I ain’t gettin’ no break because of you.”

“We’ll take a break in two hours, quit whining.”

“That’s what you said four hours ago, Johnny, and yet here we are, fuckin’ marchin’ away.”

There was a snort from the Toye, but otherwise the conversation died out. George the performer sighed heavily. Liebgott took to leering out of the wagon and into the dark. Silence reigned for only about an hour before Liebgott piped up;

“You fuckers real proud to deliver us to the king? What’s his name, Winters?”

“Why don’t you go back to sulking?” Martin snapped. “It was more tolerable.”

“Oh, I’m gonna light you up first.” Liebgott promised, and his voice dipped dark. “You’ll smell just like roasted pig. Not too far off, considering.”

“Shut up.”

“You hear that, George? I can hear a pig squealing.”

“Hey, Joe,” George called softly, but there was amusement in his voice. “If you roast him, share, would ya? I’m starving.”

Liebgott’s lips curled into a smile. “Sure thing, George.”

“Thought you were innocent?” Johnny snorted. “Not too smart, egging on the guys in charge of your life.”

“You’ve got me pegged as guilty already. I’m not going to change your minds.” George shrugged. “But when morning comes, if you feed me real nice, I might give you a little show. It looks like you boys need some cheering up.”

“And what exactly are you guilty of?” Liebgott asked, making eye contact once again with Ron. He didn’t like the look. It felt like he was missing something.

There was a mischievous glint in George’s eye when he answered, “Performing tricks on the streets. I guess I’m a little too good because the men back at home seem to believe I’m full of magic. I guess they got tired of losing money and decided to sell me to the king instead.”

Joe Liebgott laughed. “So they’ll take anyone now, huh? What, you bastards gave up finding real magic users? A little too rough for you precious guards to handle?”

“Shut the fuck up and go back to moping.” Guarnere warned.

“So what are you, then?” George asked, muttering a curse when the wagon hit a pothole again. “A witch?”

Liebgott snorted. “A sorcerer. Magic runs through my family. Just so happens I was born with a natural ability.”

“Sorcerer.” George repeated. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with real magical abilities.”

“Not many of us left.” The bitterness from the words only further caught Ron’s attention. “Fucks like Winters round us all up and lights us up in a big ol’ display. Makes up for the tiny cock.”

“Toye, do it.” Ron commanded. He’d gotten all of the information he was going to get. He wouldn’t tolerate that much disrespect, not while he held the power. The wagon was stopped and a piece of parchment was nailed to the door of the wagon.

Instantly the effect took hold and Ron watched the men writhe in the wagon. Ron let it go on for five seconds and then gave the command for Joe to rip it off. Toye folded up the parchment and tucked it into a pouch along his belt.

“What the fuck was that?” George gasped and whimpered as he righted himself.

“A magic ward.” Ron explained dryly. Steely eyes glared at them from atop his horse. “Specially made to attack any and all magic.”

“Looks like you’re guilty after all.” Guarnere sneered in amusement.

“Just you wait.” Liebgott snarled back. “I’ll show you what my magic can really do.”

“Toye.” came the order, and Ron tried not to be satisfied that any more words died on the man’s lips, body shaking and contorting against the pain. Past the two, Ron met the eyes of the Zanian, breathless in the corner of the wagon, between the benches. The beast had awful sense of words. The man had magic alright, it was just locked away.

“Alright, alright!” George pleaded, wilted in his own corner. Long fingers wrapped around the bars as he pulled himself back up onto the bench. “Stop, please.”

“I won’t warn you again. Shut up.” Ron flicked the reins on his horse and moved back up to the front. His point had been made.

They were obedient after that and three hours later they reached the castle, looking out at the sea. Alton More noticed them first and with a high pitched whistle, the thick iron gates were slowly opened up for them. There were cheers the second the people inside saw that the wagon was full. Ron led the way through the streets, veering off to the side where most carts entered the castle. A second set of gates were opened upon their arrival, Perconte beamed up at him. Ron ignored the excited questions from not only the remaining knights, but also the city guard who had abandoned their duties to come gawk at the prisoners.

He dismounted and tied up his horse, making sure to order the stable hand to water and feed him. When he returned there was a ring of joyful men around the wagon, loud and cheering. Ron pushed his way through.

“Martin, get these men back.” He ordered. “Smokey, I want those cuffs out here, now.”

The cuffs were handed to him and he ordered them out one at a time. Toye unlocked the wagon and grabbed Liebgott the sorcerer. They had to act fast. The wagon was warded to stop any magic, but the second the sorcerer was pulled from the confines he was free to potentially cast magic. Guarnere took one arm, Toye the other, and Martin was immediate with the knife, cutting away the rope. The man fought for only a second before Ron snapped the wooden stock cuffs on and locked them shut.

Martin cut the rope around his feet and Ron ignored the snarling just as he ignored the cheers and jeers from the crowd. He had only one objective and that was to get the prisoners up to the king.

“Alright, let’s move. Toye, stay with the others. That wagon stays locked until I return, got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Ron led the way as Martin and Guarnere had the utmost pleasure of trying to control a volatile sorcerer as he fought and wriggled the entire way up the stairs, cursing anything and everything as they went.

Four hallways later they reached a room Ron had rarely seen and even rarer been instructed to meet in. It had been someone’s quarters, but now it sat abandoned, collecting dust; a room off limits to anyone but the king and Lewis Nixon. It was an odd choice for a meeting with magic users, but Ron knew the secrets inside. He knew what it was that they wanted them to see.

He opened the door himself and Guarnere and Martin wrestled the sorcerer in. Ron drew open the curtains, coughed a bit at the dust but was grateful for the light. The bed took up one side of the room, a desk the other, but there was a fair bit of room between them. A wardrobe collected cobwebs and dust next to the bed. Once, the room had been lavish. Now, it was only a dust collector, hiding away the blight on the kingdom. Not two moments later both Nixon and Dick Winters, King of East Sea, entered. None of the men inside bowed.

“I have to say, Spiers, I didn’t expect you to actually catch one.” Nixon mused as he wandered over to the desk and pulled open one of the drawers. Dust flew up and he choked on it a minute before he pulled out a bottle of what Ron could only guess to be fine wine. There was little else that Nixon drank.

“Three.” Ron corrected politely and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, just in case.

“So you’re the fuck called Winters?” Liebgott snarled, nose held high and teeth bared.

“That would be me.” Dick didn’t wear a crown, didn’t even wear a fancy cloak to signify who he was. That was a formality they’d long since ditched.

“Where’s the pyre?” Liebgott snorted. “Ain’t much of a party without a fire to burn the witch on, is it?”

“We’re hoping to avoid that.” Dick crossed his arms and joined Nixon at the desk to lean against it in a regal fashion. They may have ditched most of the formalities outside of visiting nobles, but the man had the finesse of royalty.

“Avoid it?” Something of a laugh accompanied the incredulous outburst. “That’s why you’re catching every last _fucking_ magic user? To avoid lighting them up like the great _king_ you claim to be. How fucking _generous_ of you.”

“You’re angry, we get it.” Nixon sighed. “Can we just skip to good part here? We’ve confirmed he can actually use magic, right?”

“We weren’t the ones to catch this one.” Guarnere admitted with a hint of a shrug. “Heyliger’s men dropped him on us as we were coming back.”

“He was wounded in the capture.” Martin added. “Ranney took what was left of his men to bring him back.”

Dick took the news with a flick of his eyes downward. “How badly was he injured?”

“No idea. We only spoke to Ranney briefly.” Ron answered. Nixon took a long drink and set the bottle down. “They confirmed he’s dangerous. He’s boasted about—”

“Roasting a few fuckers.” Liebgott snarled and grinned.

Winters’ eyes snapped back up to their captive. Guarnere kicked the back of Liebgott’s knees and together he and Martin forced him to kneel. Ron took great pleasure in the annoyed snarl it evoked.

“What’s your name?” Dick asked— _asked_ where Ron would have demanded.

“Fuck off.”

“Joe Liebgott he said.” Ron supplied, sharp eyes focused entirely on every movement that came from the sorcerer. “He said he’s a sorcerer.”

“Good.” Dick pulled away from the desk and motioned for Guarnere and Martin to lift the man back up to his feet. “I understand why you attacked my men and I don’t fault you for it. Survival is an instinct bred in every man. I ask that you remember that.”

Liebgott spat at him in response. He was too far to come remotely close, but Dick held his hand up in peace. Ron handled the pommel of his sword a little tighter, itching to end the disrespect.

“Nix.” Dick said, and the dark haired man sighed and pulled off the painting behind the desk. Large symbols written in thick strokes of red covered the wall behind the painting. There was a faint glimmer to the writings, something that felt particularly like _magic_.

Ron watched the sorcerer’s reaction; it started with curiosity overriding fury, then alarm, and finally the man’s lips spread wide, laughter drawn from him. It was loud, pointedly made to mock them as he stood in front of the King.

“You’ve been cursed!” The man cried as his laughter faded.

“Do you recognize the symbols?”

“I’m not telling you shit.”

“You said three?” Winters sighed and Ron nodded.

“I’ll take this one—”

“No. Leave him here.” Dick ordered. “Bring me the others.”

Ron obeyed, back straight and shoulders square. The crowd of men around the wagon had dissipated only slightly, most of the men talking amongst themselves or jeering at the prisoners. Toye stood at the door to the wagon, eyes sharp. When he saw Ron approach he nodded tightly.

“Captain.”

“Open it. We’re taking them up to the king.”

Toye nodded, asked, “Cuffs?”

Ron nodded. The performer and the Zanian were cooperative, allowing themselves to be bound by wooden cuffs that locked any magic they had deep inside. Ron pushed at the Zanian from behind while Toye tugged the performer from the front. It was a quicker journey than the first. They were careful to spread the men apart, keep them separated just enough to avoid any coordinated attacks.

The performer looked mildly amused, stood straight with something of a lopsided grin. Toye had an annoyed curl to his upper lip and kept a gruff hold on the back of the man’s doublet. The Zanian, however, stood on trembling legs. Ron was practically supporting him as the man blinked and squinted.

“I’m sure you’ve been told many things about why you’ve been brought here.” Dick started, scratching idly at his chin as he leaned against the desk. Nixon only took another drink. “I’d like to make it clear why you’ve been taken from your homes and hauled across land and sea to stand in front of a king who knows nothing about you.”

“Oh good, a speech before we die.” George the performer muttered.

“Four years ago a curse was placed on this kingdom.” Dick went on with dignity. “Anyone who acts upon love is to die.”

It sounded pitiful. So what? No one could fuck in the kingdom. But it was more than not being able to make love. A little boy kissed a little girl and both fell dead in the street. A mother kissed her newborn son’s head and a grief stricken father buried them both. An old couple were found dead in their bed, hands entwined.

“Half of the kingdom died in just a couple of days.” Dick continued, voice tight with what Ron knew was guilt and grief. It couldn’t have been easy to deal with. “No one knew what had happened, but eventually we found this.”

Nixon flicked his wrist to point at the writing on the wall, lazily.

“We aren’t looking to execute you. We’re looking for help.”

“Fuck you.” was the immediate reply from Liebgott. “You and yours have been killing magic users for years. Are you really that surprised that one decided to curse you?”

Nixon sighed heavily from behind the desk and took another drink. “I told you.”

Dick held his hand up and Nixon sighed again. “I’m not going to deny that past leadership has wronged you. East Sea is ruled by me now.”

Liebgott snorted, opened his mouth to no doubt spit more curses, but to everyone’s surprise it was George Luz the performer who opened up his mouth and asked, “What are you offering?”

Dick blinked, taken a little off guard and Ron furrowed his brows. They had never gotten this far before.

“Sparing your life isn’t enough?” Martin muttered.

George shrugged as best he could with Toye’s fist in his doublet. “I’m not about to work for free. Kill me or let me go, but if you want my help I’ll need payment.”

“You’re saying you can reverse the curse?” Dick asked, sharp as a whip. Ron felt his lips curl in a smug little smile.

“I’m saying that I can help you.” George answered, a little more wary than he had been.

“Fucking traitor.” Liebgott snarled. “Why don’t you help light that fire that burns us while you’re at it.”

“You want to burn, be my guest.” George snipped. “I’d like to live, if you don’t mind. And I ain’t doing it for free. There’s something I want in return.”

“I need to know what you have to offer first.” Dick asserted.

“I’m a performer. I don’t have any great powers that’ll undo a curse like that.” George jutted his chin out at the writing on the wall. “But I know magical items. I can name ‘em all and recognize them on sight. If you’re gonna break a curse, you either need the one who did it or you need someone with stronger magic. Good luck with convincing an all powerful mage to undo a curse in times like these.”

“You’re saying you could break it with a magical item.”

“With the _right_ magical item, possibly.” George corrected. “There is no guarantee with magic.”

“And what do you want in return?” Ron demanded, because Dick was pondering the solution and Ron was growing tired of supporting the Zanian.

“There’s a specific item I’ve been looking for. I want it when this is over.”

“Alright.” Dick answered. “What’s your name?”

“George Luz.”

Winters’ blue eyes wandered from George to Liebgott, still knelt between Martin and Guarnere. “Have you changed your mind?”

Ron flicked his eyes over to the irate sorcerer but flicked them back to the Zanian when he swayed slightly. Ron, hand fisted in the material of the man’s shoulder, righted him. He remembered that he hadn’t fed the man in all of their journey and he had no idea when the man last ate. He’d been weak and shaky since the start.

He adjusted his grip and filtered out the reply of the sorcerer to study the man’s eyes, dark and focused on the writing on the wall. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Nixon shot Ron a look and came around the side of the desk to study his prisoner. The Zanian’s gaze didn’t falter.

“—safe. No one comes near it. If they do, I want all rights to punish as I see fit.”

“How large?”

“One hundred acres.”

“Fine.”

Ron flicked his attention back to Liebgott, who was pulled back up to his feet. He’d completely missed the conversation, but it was clear land was involved. Ron couldn’t care less.

But then Dick’s eyes roamed over to the two of them and he asked; “And you?”

“He’s mute.” Ron answered for the Zanian, still studying the markings on the wall.

It was clear that the answer took Dick off guard and Nixon choked on his drink.

“Where the hell did you find him?” Nixon asked incredulously.

“North.” Ron answered and straightened the man against when he listed to the side slightly.

“What can he do?”

 _Absolutely nothing._ He wanted to say, but instead he offered a meager; “Before he was mute, I don’t know.”

“How did you find him?” Nixon asked, and it was almost careful, eyes still focused on the dark ones analyzing every last stroke of the writing.

“Luck, mostly.” Ron met Dick’s eyes, curious and a little suspicious. “He was a slave. His master wasn’t happy to give him up.”

“You paid him?”

“His dues, yes.” Every liar knew that the best lies lay in truths.

“Does he—” Nixon cut himself off and approached the Zanian. “Do you know these symbols?”

Of course there was no answer. The man kept his gaze until Ron shook him. As if snapped from a reverie, the Zanian blinked twice and slowly turned his attention to Nixon. Nixon asked again, but just as Ron had experienced, a blank void was all that met the questioning.

“What’s his name?” Dick asked.

Ron hadn’t thought about that. Without much thought he said; “Roe.”

“Roe? No family name?” Lewis sniffed.

“No.” Ron answered.

“Roe.” Dick spoke as if feeling the name in his mouth. There was no further questioning, instead Dick pulled himself away from the edge of the desk and with a straight back, announced; “We will discuss the terms of the agreement. For now, take them below. Remove the cuffs but keep them separated.”

The door was opened and Toye took George Luz the performer first. Guarnere and Martin had a harder time with Liebgott, and as Ron nudged ‘Roe’ the Zanian forward, a hand came to halt them. It was only when the others left that Nixon leaned in close.

“What aren’t you telling us about him?”

“Sire,” came a voice from the door and Dick waved in Malarkey.

“Good to see you back, Malarkey.”

“Thanks. I came to report on something we found out there.” Malarkey dug into his pouch and pulled out some parchment, crumpled up. He flattened it out against the desk and sheepishly explained. “It wasn’t under very forgiving circumstances, but I managed to copy it as best I could. Magic writing.”

“I’ll take a look later. Thank you.”

Malarkey nodded and backed away from the desk, turning to leave when he stopped in his tracks. A quick pivot on his boots and a smile accompanied his next words. “Oh and I was hoping to make a request.”

“What is it?”

“Spina’s on his last leg. He’s been overrun lately and he needs an assistant.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

“Malarkey,” Dick called after him when the man turned to leave again. “Send Heffron and Perconte up, would you?”

“On it.” came the reply, and the redheaded archer was gone.

Ron took the opportunity to push the Zanian forward and out of reach of Lewis Nixon. Nixon begrudgingly watched him go. Sooner or later he’d be cornered into revealing a more detailed story. But until that time, he led his prisoner toward the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Opia - the ambiguous intensity from looking someone in the eye _

 

Babe scuffed the bottom of his boot against the uneven slabs that made up the floor. His boots were well worn and thick, comfortable in just the right ways. They’d been a gift from his father, something to get him started in his quest for knighthood. His sword he’d had to acquire on his own. Bill had set him up with a smithy he’d trusted with his own sword before he’d left for East Sea, wizened by almost too many summers to be pounding out impurities in the steel.

“What a load of horse shit.” The grumble from behind startled Babe. A hum of agreement followed, then that awful scratching sound.

“You’d think they’d at least feed us while they take their sweet time coming to a decision.”

“It’s fuckin’ freezing down here.”

“Shut  _ up _ .” Babe’s partner snapped. Something Perconte. Fred, maybe? He’d only just started to put faces to names.

The scratching stopped, blessedly, for a moment before starting right back up again. Babe risked looking over his shoulder and into the dark of the dungeon. Well, it wasn’t exactly the typical dungeon you’d find in a castle. It was more like a cellar that had been converted. There wasn’t near enough space to keep prisoners long term and the cells were just metal bars that had been wedged into holes carved into the stone. There were four cells in all, two on each side of the room with a small walkway between them. The only light that poured in came from the slit at the top of the door and it didn’t offer much for Babe to be able to see inside.

Their job was simply to guard them. When Babe had signed on to be a knight for East Sea, he expected his first assignment to at least be exciting. Guarding some magicks for hours wasn’t something he imagined. 

“Shouldn’t the castle guard do this?” Babe muttered, scuffing his boot again just to block out that horrid scratching sound. “This ain’t knight business.”

“It’s  _ our _ business.” Perconte muttered back. “King says stand and guard, we stand and guard.”

“Well, yeah, but this isn’t what you usually do, right?”

“Usually,” Perconte answered shortly and leaned against the stone doorway, “we protect the kingdom from harm. It just so happens that these assholes are the harm.”

“I think they’re ignoring us, Joe.”

“You really surprised? Winters is just looking for a loophole to kill us later.”

“Kill me, then. Just feed me before you do.”

“Shut up!” Perconte snapped again. “I can’t stand the whining.” 

“An apple’ll do. Meat and mead would be better, but at this point I’m not picky.” one of the prisoners drolled.

“Look, why don’t I just grab something from the kitchens? Couple of apples and maybe they’ll shut up.” Babe suggested. Anything to get him away from the fucking  _ scratching _ .

“Water, too.” came the order from inside and Babe rolled his eyes.

“Fine, go.” Perconte waved him off. “Make it quick. If Speirs catches you I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, got it.” Babe murmured and scurried away up a flight of stairs. The kitchens were empty, thankfully, and Babe grabbed the first thing he found — bread. He didn’t take much. It’s not as if he was particularly sympathetic to some magicks. If anything, he was half glad they were starving. For all the harm they’d done to the world they deserved a bit of suffering, even if king Winters really was striking up a deal with them.

The temptation for a drink wasn’t ignored and Babe stuffed the bread into the crook of his elbow to pour two mugs of ale. It was a bit of a struggle not to spill the ale, but he made it back down stone steps with the loud clack of the thick leather soles of his boots. Perconte had leaned against the door, shoulders slumped in fatigue. Babe bitterly reminded himself that this was an overnight assignment. With his luck he’d still have to report for duty come morning and be expected to train with well rested knights.

“What’s that?” Perconte mumbled, one eye closed.

“Something to wake us up.” Babe grinned and passed him a mug.

The change happened instantly. Perconte perked up, took the mug in a state of bewilderment, and then raised his cup at him.

“You’re a sneaky son of a bitch.”

“Eh,” Babe shrugged in faux modesty, “I learned from the best.”

“Bill wouldn’t shut up about you before he left.” Perconte rolled his eyes. “Nothin’ but the kid he’d left back home itchin’ to be a knight.”

“Great,” Babe moaned, embarrassed and wanting to crawl right in a hole. “I thought I’d told him not to say anythin’.”

Perconte shrugged, lips tugged up in what Babe hoped was amusement. The last thing he needed to was to be teased about his friendship with Bill. Even in the few days Babe had been a part of the knights, he’d gathered that Bill Guarnere had quite the reputation. His dreams of making a name for himself felt further away.

In an attempt to salvage what little pride he had left, Babe set down his own cup of ale and removed the torch from its place beside the door. “Hey, get the door, would ya?”

Perconte took a gulp and then pulled hard at the metal ring that acted a door knob. The wooden door creaked as it opened and light flooded into the near pitch black cellar-turned-dungeon.

Two of the magicks were on one side of the room, one was on the other. The scratching stopped as soon as the two of them entered, much to Babe’s relief. On the right, one of the men was sitting with his back to the wall. His hands remained loose, resting on his knees and he looked exhausted. The other was stood, arms through the cell bars. His lips were drawn into a scowl and he leered at them.

Babe broke the bread into three. He tossed a piece through the bars to the man sat calmly in the back of his cell. The man caught it and gave a wry smile accompanied by a nod. Babe hesitated before reaching out with the second piece of bread. The magic user kept his leer and scowl, but reached out for it and snatched it out of Babe’s hand. That just left the one behind him. He turned, taking in the sight of the third man, curled up in the back of the cell, legs crossed. His feet were very bare. His head was down, studying something in his hands.

“Hey,” he called, and the way the flame of the torch swayed at the call sent shivers up his spine. The man he called to flicked his eyes up, then back down. “Food, c’mon.”

Still, the man made no move. With a click of his tongue he tossed the bread in. It landed on the dirty slabs, bounced once, and stilled a foot away from Babe. The man’s gaze flicked up again, but quickly went back to something small in his hands. Babe squinted against the dark to try and see what it was, but he couldn’t see for shit and there was no way he was going to open the cell door to investigate.

The cells had wards on them specifically designed to block any magic within. If he opened it, the ward would be broken and all hell could break loose. Whatever the man had, it most likely wasn’t worth bothering about. 

Babe gave a short huff through his nose as he crouched and reached for the piece of bread barely beyond the cell gate. The bread was just slightly out of his reach and when he pulled his hand back something sharp caught his hand. He snatched it back with a hiss.

“My goddamn hand!” he snarled and inspected the injury. A long gash split his hand nearly entirely open and blood welled quickly, spilling over his wrist and palm.

“Should’ve left it.” Perconte sighed.

Babe cursed again and with the hand that wasn’t dripping with blood, tossed the piece of bread further into the cell. He rose, itching to wrap his palm in the wool of his tunic, but it was still new and he didn’t want to stain the article of clothing he’d worked so hard to get.

“C’mon,” Perconte urged and pushed him out of the dungeon with a hand to his back. “As soon as Guarnere and Toye relieve us you should get Spina to fix you up.”

“That the healer here?” Babe asked, a little too close to a whimper for his liking. 

“Yeah, you probably never met him, huh? He’s a busy guy.” Perconte closed the door behind them and replaced the torch in the holder. “Just ask Malarkey. He’s always fixing up those seekers.”

“Seekers?” 

Perconte rolled his eyes and threw a hand up. “Did Bill tell you fuckin’ anything before left? Seekers, rangers, the lot that roam out and try to find something to break the fuckin’ curse already.”

“Oh, yeah,” Babe shrugged and winced when his palm pulsed hot agony, “seekers. Yeah, I know them. Bill called ‘em somethin’ different.”

Perconte snorted. “Right, fetchin’ dogs.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Don’t let ‘em catch you callin’ ‘em that. McClung’ll tear your throat out through your teeth.”

Babe grimaced and opened his mouth to say something no doubt witty and intelligent when the sound of boots on stone echoed from up the stairs. It didn’t take long for Babe to recognize the two men stomping down them, expressions of annoyance cutting off any jovial greeting Babe could have given.

“‘Bout time.” Perconte muttered and picked up his cup of ale. He held it out to Toye, who took it with mild surprise. “A gift for you. Magicks were fed and put to bed. Now it’s my turn.”

“Fed, he says,” came from behind the door.

Bill ignored the comment and nodded at Babe’s hand. “What ‘appened, Babe?”

“Had to fight one off.” Babe joked weakly.

“He fuckin’ cut himself.” Perconte cut between them and started his ascent. “Told him to go see Spina.”

“Yeah, go.” Bill ordered, one brow raised. “Spina’ll be asleep, so just walk in.”

“If you’re lucky,” Toye added, “he’s been asleep for hours.”

“Ha!” Bill said and bent down to pick up Babe’s cup of ale. “He does have a bit of a temper.”

“Yeah,” Babe mumbled, “hey, when am I supposed to be back?”

“Twenty minutes.” Toye deadpanned.

“Morning light.” Bill answered with a smirk and took a drink. “Don’t be late or I’ll make sure you’re muckin’ out stables for a week.”

“I already muck out the stables.”

“Go on.” Bill waved him off.

Babe turned and made his way up the stairs. His boots clacked against the stone as he went and the cut on his hand stung. He wondered if he could get away with  _ not _ waking the physician. A simple wrapping of cloth should do. Nothing a sleep deprived physician should need to worry about.

 

* * *

 

It was late, far too late for him to be awake, but for some reason his boots were bothering him. They were off, laid haphazard on floor next to his bed. Babe laid on his side, glaring at the boots, desperately trying to figure out why the hell his boots would bother him in the middle of the night. They looked fine. They felt fine. The leather was still good, the soles still mostly thick. They didn’t shine, but none of the knights had shiny boots. That was a luxury a noble had, if they were particularly dedicated to their appearance.

Babe huffed into his pillow and rolled over so that he wouldn’t have to look at them. His palm throbbed under the makeshift bandage and that bothered him too. He wrenched his eyes shut and willed himself to fall asleep. Five minutes, ten minutes, and then his toes were cold.  He kicked his blanket down and curled his toes in the fabric and then rolled over again. Another minute, two, and then he growled to himself and sat up.

He pulled his boots on and winced when the act pulled at his wound. He left his sword and pulled his green tunic on over the thin cotton shirt he wore to bed. Babe threw open the door to his room and stalked out. 

He didn’t know where he was going, he just went, stalking about the castle in restless fury. He passed the kitchens, not willing to risk getting drunk before his shift in the morning. He passed the courtyard, the maids quarters, the servants quarters, several city guard who didn’t bother to ask what he was up to at this hour, and finally found himself in front of the armory.

The armory was a place he’d been warned about. The man in charge wasn’t one to be trifled with and if Babe hadn’t have been at his wits end, he might have heeded Bill’s advice. But instead he crept inside and squinted in the dark in awe of all of the glinting metal. Swords, shields, javelins, a few maces, and one very large, very dangerous looking hammer hung on the walls. An anvil stood next to a forge, various smaller hammers and chisels set about in what Babe assumed was a proper order. 

On the other side of the room a row of shelves contained chainmail and helms. Below the shelves a row of boots sat lined. They all looked the same size, especially in the dark, so Babe took a pair off of the end and skirted out of the armory before he could get caught.

Now that he had the boots in hand, he questioned what he was doing. It didn’t stop his feet from moving, however, and before he knew it he was at the top of the stairway down to the dungeons. He hesitated, wondered how he was going to explain to Bill. He could turn around, just put the boots back or wait until it was his turn to guard again and sneak them in. He’d never be able to sleep if he didn’t and the thought of facing another boring round of standing in front of the door kicking his boots around without having slept propelled him forward.

Bill was indeed surprised to see him. “Is it sunlight already?”

“Nah,” Babe answered as casually as he could, “just forgot somethin’.”

Toye raised a brow and curled his upper lip in curiosity. “Forgot what?”

“I gotta go in. Grab the torch, would ya?” Babe offered an innocent shrug and desperately willed his beating heart to slow. His face was hot out of nerves but he did his best to play the straight man.

“Go in for what, Babe?” Bill demanded in that voice he always used on him; authoritative, big brother-like. Babe didn’t stand a chance against it.

“One of ‘em’s got no boots.” Babe hissed quietly. “Can’t sleep until he does, so just let me do this so I can sleep, alright?”

Bill blinked, Toye shook his head. Babe’s face flushed harder at the lack of response and he almost turned on his heel to flee as fast as he could but Bill placed two strong hands on the tops of his shoulders and in a fashion that only spelled out just how stupid he thought Babe was, asked;

“They threaten you?”

“No.” Babe denied, indignant. “Just shut up and open the goddamn door.”

Bill’s lips pulled to the side in a near sinister grin and patted him roughly on the arm before waving a hand to Toye. Toye shook his head again, but pulled the door open. Bill grabbed the torch and pushed Babe in first. It was almost more nerve wracking being in with three pairs of eyes following his every move. It was just so he could sleep, that was all; he told himself.

The flame of the torch only lit so much and Babe ignored the other two men in favor for the one who had bare feet. The man had moved, no longer in the back of his cell scratching at something but against the side wall, halfway between the front and back. His eyes were trained on Babe as he swallowed and crouched down. Babe flicked his eyes to Bill, who only watched with a hand on the hilt of his sword. Toye was at the door in a similar stance.

Carefully, Babe placed the boots down on the floor and reached into the cell. The bars were too close together for the boots to fit straight through, so Babe grunted and pulled in order to get one through. It took him twice as long to get the other one through, but when he was done he let a small smile grace his lips and muttered, “There you go.”

Babe waited a beat, met the man’s eyes and then rocked back on his heels. There was movement and then a hand slid through the bars to snag his sleeve. Babe just about jumped out of skin, startling audibly. 

The torch was dropped, a sword replacing it as Bill ordered quick as a whip; “Let him go.”

Babe, even with the torchlight no longer illuminating the dungeon, could see dark eyes glinting on the other side of the bars. The hand that had his sleeve fisted pulled Babe closer. He resisted, alarmed when a second hand slid through to grab hold of his wrist.

“Now!” Bill snarled and poised his sword to strike.

The dark haired prisoner paid him no heed, keeping eye contact with Babe as the hand fisted in his sleeve released, moving to press something hard into the injured palm and forced Babe’s fingers to curl around it. The action hurt and he pulled back hard. The hands released their hold on him and then there was light, bright and near blinding in Babe’s fist. 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again and while he was disoriented a hand pulled at the back of Babe’s shirt and he was hauled out of the dungeon. He leaned against the wall and blinking rapidly, chasing away spots and clearing his watering eyes. The door closed and Bill was on him.

“What happened? What’d he do to you, Babe?”

“I don’t — ” Babe swallowed and swiped his sleeve against his eyes to dry them, “I dunno.”

His wrist was wrenched away from his chest and when Bill forced Babe to open his hand, dust spilled from it. Babe shook the dirt from his hand and paused. His palm didn’t throb at the action, didn’t even smart. In a reckless but hasty move, Babe pulled the makeshift bandage from his palm and marveled at smooth, unbroken skin.

“How did…?” Babe muttered and flexed his hand. 

“Magic.” Bill answered, almost grave. “How the hell did he — ”

More light, not blinding like Babe had experienced, but dull and constant shone from the cutout in the door. Toye unsheathed his blade and nodded for Bill to do the same. Babe just watched, stunned by his lack of wound, as the knights pulled open the door.

It was as if a torch was stood in the middle of the room. Light glowed from a single point on the floor, out in the walkway between cells. It was unclear as to what was the cause, but judging from Babe’s recent miracle, magic was a likely suspect. The entire dungeon was lit up, not a single corner shrouded in shadow. 

The two magicks on the right stood in their cells and peered out at the middle of the floor. The man Babe had fetched boots for was sat where he’d been before, boots now adorned his feet, and scratched away at a stone with another stone.

“Babe, go get Nixon.” Guarnere ordered, and when Babe just looked at the light in awe, he tacked on a snarled, “ _ Now, Babe!” _

As if snapped out of a daze, Babe nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get up the stairs. He vaguely heard noise downstairs but focused on running as fast as he could through the castle halls. He had only a vague idea as to where the King’s advisor would be. He took another flight of stairs up to the second floor of the castle and panicked when he saw his options were either left, right, or straight. Straight looked to lead to the throne room, and if the kitchens were to the left downstairs, the dining hall for lords and ladies had to also be left. That left right.

He flew down the hallway and desperately tried to remember which room was which. He’d only been given a tour of the castle once before he started knight duties and those duties almost never required him to be up here. He came upon a green door and knocked rapidly with a heavy fist. When he received no answer he threw any and all curtesy out the window and threw the door open.

Lord Lewis Nixon was a man of many talents — at least that was what Babe had been told. He knew how to read basic magic, depending on the language and he had knowledge of wards. Most kingdoms were lucky to have anyone who even knew anything of value when it came to magic, let alone how to nullify it. 

“Lord Nixon?!” Babe called into the room. The room itself was dark, no lit candles or torches and Babe couldn’t see if there was anyone inside. When silence was his only answer, he muttered, “Shit.” and bolted further down the hallway.

His feet led him to a fancier door, one whose details were lost on Babe’s frantic fist. This time, Babe received an answer right away. The door was pulled open and Lord Nixon’s scowling face snarled a “what?”.

“Lord Nixon, the magicks — ” was all Babe got out before Nixon practically shoved him out of the doorway and started down the hall. Babe nearly tripped over himself again to catch up to the man in half laced britches and a shirt that clearly had been about to come off.

“Speak quickly.” Nixon ordered as he fixed his white shirt. 

“I — well, one of ‘em — ” Babe swallowed and tried again, “I gave boots to one of ‘em, my lord.”

Nixon stopped dead in his tracks and spun on his bare heels. “What?”

“I — He — I cut my hand, when I fed ‘em.” Babe thrust his hand out so Nixon could see exactly how unafflicted his palm was. “And when I brought the boots he just…”

Babe wasn’t sure how to explain so he did some aborted, flurry of a hand gesture as if that would do the talking for him and pointed to his palm.

“It’s gone, my lord.”

“Okay,” Nixon sighed, “first, stop the my lords. It takes too much time and I don’t give a shit. Second, are you trying to say he healed you?”

“Yes!” Babe cried, relieved that somehow the man understood. “And now the room is lit up.”

Nixon opened his mouth, closed it, and then spun back around to continue his trek. “Just what the hell are you men doing down there?”

Babe didn’t even try to answer just did his best to keep up and nervously awaited what they would find down in the dungeon. It was a scene similar to how he left it, the dungeon was lit up, the magicks were in their cells, and Bill and Toye were stood at the doorway with their swords drawn.

“What’s going on?”

Toye shook his head and Bill offered a meager, “They ain’t supposed to be able to do magic in there.”

Nixon pushed through the knights and into the walkway between cells. Babe nervously watched from behind Bill and Toye as Nixon approached the apparent source of the light.

“Which one of you did this?” Nixon asked, and it was far less accusatory than Babe expected. There were two snorts in response. “Right.”

It was difficult to see because the space was so small and Toye and Bill were crowded into the doorway, but Nixon stood up. There was movement, something that had Bill tense and Toye slip into the walkway as well.

“Do you know what this is?” he heard Nixon ask.

“Of course I know what it is.” came the retort. “It’s a rune.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to know what that is.” came another voice. “Probably has you mystified, huh?”

“It’s clever, actually.” Nixon responded cooly. “I didn’t expect someone to figure out how to get past the wards. How long has he been carving these?”

“How long are we going to be kept in here?” 

“Let us out or you’ve got no deal.” 

“We’re working on a way to keep you safe.”

“Bullshit!” was spat with so much that it startled Babe. Bill followed Toye into the walkway, chainmail clinked as he walked.

With Bill out of the way, Babe could clearly see Nixon standing center, fiddling with the rune in his hand. Light emanated from it in all directions, shining just bright enough to be a little uncomfortable to look at. Babe slid his eyes over to the magicks Nixon had addressed so casually. 

Both men were at the bars in the front of their cells. One rested his arms on a cross bar, letting them hang through. That had Babe nervous, and if it had Babe nervous, it definitely had Bill and Toye nervous. The other stood at the corner spitting through the bars but kept all limbs safely inside. 

“Alright, alright,” Nixon appeased and ran a thumb over the rune. The light disappeared and Babe scrambled for a sword he didn’t have. Another second and the light was back. There were a couple of hisses against the assault, but eyes adjusted quickly. “We’re in a bit of a delicate situation. If we let you out, you pose a danger to our people. If we block your magic, our people pose a danger to  _ you _ .”

One of them laughed. No words needed to follow, the message was clear. The other groaned and knocked a head of black hair against the bars.

“Look, I perform magic tricks. That guy doesn’t even talk. Let the two of us out, at least.” 

“What the  _ fuck _ , George?” the other snarled, lips curled in disgust.

“Look, you’re snapping, bragging about lighting people on  _ fire _ , Joe. Give it a rest and maybe they’ll let you out too.” George waved a hand through the bars and sighed heavily. “I’ve had enough of this damn cell. I want food, real food, and not some table scraps. I want to breathe the outside air. At this point I’ll do anything to get out.”

“Just when you think you know a guy.”

“We have a solution, but you won’t like it.” Nixon turned his back to them, instead knelt down in front of the mute’s cell. Babe watched in fascination as he slid the rune between the bars. It clattered to the floor, but nothing happened. “Huh. Interesting.”

“What?” Babe couldn’t help but to ask.

Nixon shot him a look, Babe flushed, and then answered; “I put wards up for each of the cells. It should stop any magic from those inside.”

“Light shoulda gone out,” Bill explained, something between irritated and teasing.

“Which means,” Nixon grunted as he stood and took the rune with him. “that the magic comes from the rune itself. I’ve never seen runes like this.”

“Ah,” the magick by the name of George spoke up, “it’s an ancient practice that not many know today. You won’t see it until you’ve hit the remote outskirts of Sansarka.”

“How do  _ you _ know?” The other magick, Joe, snorted, “You said you were from Rodihle.”

“So I am,” George shrugged, “but I’m also a performer. We travel.”

“Sansarka…” Nixon repeated, eyes still trained on the rune. Babe’s own gaze floated from the magical rock to the man who carved it. He sat in silence in the cell, eyes down. Even with Nixon looming above him right outside the cell, he didn’t act bothered. In fact, he looked only moments away from falling asleep. “Guarnere, isn’t Randleman from Sansarka?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Good.” Nixon turned, pushed his way back out of the dungeon, and consequently pushed the three knights out as well. “Toye, Guarnere, stay here. Heffron, you’re with me.”

And so Babe found himself blindly following Nixon with questions he didn’t feel he could ask. Nixon practically glided through the castle in silence; up the stairs, down two hallways, and stopped in front of a door in the knights quarters. He knocked twice, waited a moment, and then knocked harder. Still, no answer. It took one more set of firm knocks before the door opened and a very sleep drunk beast of a man opened up. 

Babe knew this man as the Bull. He was large in every sense of the word. His body had been well developed in his job as blacksmith. Babe couldn’t remember hearing the man speak, however, and he was almost afraid of what he had to say to the two of them knocking on his door.

Bull opened his mouth, yawned, and answered softly, “Nixon?”

“Sorry to wake you, I need you look at something for me.” Nixon held out an open palm and Bull squinted at the rune in his hand. Nixon gestured for the blacksmith to take it, and when he did, asked, “You seen something like this before?”

Bull took a moment, ran his eyes over every inch of the small stone. Then, with a stroke of his hand through a rather impressive beard, nodded. “When I was young. Where’d you get it?”

“One of the magic users. What can you tell me about it?”

Bull leaned against the door and turned the rune over a few times in his hand. “S’not common, something that the elders would make. It’s not like real magic, but if you know runish they a real help in hard times. This one says ‘light’.”

“You can read it?” Babe asked in awe, and Bull blinked at him.

“My mother only knew a few. She quit after the Zanians.”

“What kind of things can these do?” Nixon asked. “Any of ‘em dangerous?”

“Naw,” Bull shook his head and yawned again, “these are used as tools. Light in the dark, heat for the winter, a rune to help crops grow or ward away sickness.”

“Healing?”

Bull nodded, “Ain’t seen it for myself, but I heard.”

“Right,” Nixon drawled and gently took the rune back. “Thanks for the help, Bull.”

“What’re we gonna do with ‘em?”

Nixon paused, heaved a sigh, and answered, “What we planned from the beginning. Use them to break the curse.”

Babe was quick to follow at Nixon’s heels and the lord didn’t seem to even notice he was there until he made a sudden stop and Babe nearly ran into his back. Nixon turned, quirked an eyebrow, and then as if he remembered who Babe was and what he was doing, waved a hand at him.

“You’re dismissed. Just uh, go get some sleep or something.”

Babe opened his mouth with a question on the tip of his tongue, but quietly answered, “Yes, my lord.” and left Nixon in the middle of the hall. He was lucky he wasn’t reprimanded and asking questions was only going to draw attention to his follies.

The sun had just peeked up over the trees by the time he made it back to his room and shut the door. He was exhausted, confused, and cold. He shucked off his boots, crawled under his thin wool blanket, and let out a slow, long breath. He held his right hand in front of his face and traced the non-existent line of the wound. The skin was smooth, far smoother than it had been before he’d cut it open. Calluses that had built up from hours and hours of field work and swordplay were gone.

Babe huffed out a breath through his nose and turned onto his side. “Better have been worth it, Babe.”

 

* * *

 

The thumping on his door startled him out of sleep so badly that he’d gotten tangled up in his blankets and slipped off of the bed. It wasn’t a long drop, but his left shoulder ached where it had met with stone flooring.

“Heffron!” came the call and Babe groaned. 

Reluctantly, he untangled himself and opened his door, shirt twisted and hair mussed. Perconte gave him the most unimpressed glare.

“I’ve been knocking for a year out here. Get your ass dressed and let’s go. We’ve got duties.”

Duties meant chores, no matter how manly and noble the knights made it sound. It was a toss up between mucking the stables, hunting wild pigs that got into farmers’ crops, or keeping guard over the magicks. The exciting life of a knight quickly soured into mundane servant work. Only a fraction of the day was dedicated to practicing sword techniques and physical training. Babe was almost sure he’d never actually get to fight for real, or even save someone.

Still, Babe tucked his shirt in and pulled on boots. His light chainmail was next and he winced when his hair was pulled by the links in the hood. After that came his green tunic, followed by his leather belt with the few pouches it had room for. His sword was the last article to be fastened to his belt and then he was out the door.

“Finally.” Perconte muttered and started off. “These fucking magicks are gonna be the death of us. I dunno what the king is thinking, lettin’ ‘em loose.”

“What?"

Perconte snorted. “While you were sleeping the fucking day away, King Winters came up with a plan. Apparently we’re letting the magicks run loose. Trust, or some bullshit. And the best part of the whole thing? The knights have been appointed as their guards. To “protect them”, Heffron, can you believe this?”

“No.” Babe answered, and his sleep addled brain tried to figure out what the hell Perconte was talking about.

“No goddamn regard to  _ our _ safety.” Perconte went on, “At least we got the mute.”

“Are you serious?” Babe picked up the pace so he could walk side by side with the irate knight instead of three steps behind. “So, what? We just gotta watch ‘em?”

“Yeah, like some kinda watch dogs. They should’ve put the city guard on this shit. We should be out there nabbin’ more of ‘em.”

Babe agreed; the knights had already risked their lives to bring the magicks back to the castle. Those damn city guards did practically nothing but sit on the castle walls drinking ale and wine. He kept his thoughts to himself, however. He was still new to the knights and Bill had warned him ahead of time to keep his mouth shut. Babe couldn’t deny that his mouth had gotten him into some trouble back at home. He couldn’t help it, some things just needed to be said!

Perconte led him outside of the knights’ quarters, past the training grounds and the stables to where a small cottage stood. A garden wrapped around the sides and back, from what Babe could see. The plants looked well taken care of and some even sat in small clay pots. Outside of the cottage stood a man Babe feared with every inch of his being.

There was a thousand stories on Captain Ron Speirs, all of them were told differently with every telling. Babe didn’t know what to believe and at first he had thought the men were trying to spook him and the other newly appointed knights. It wouldn’t be the first time Babe had fallen into that trap. But the way each and every man looked even just a bit on edge when they spoke of Captain Speirs told Babe that even if the stories were just tall tales, there was at least a hint of truth in them.

Even Perconte looked a bit wary when they approached. Captain Speirs seemed to watch every step they made and by the time they were close enough to receive orders Babe could feel his heart thrumming wildly in chest. He made eye contact but his mouth was very suddenly dry.

“This him?”

“Heffron, yeah.” Perconte jutted his chin in Babe’s direction and then stared past the captain and squinted at the cottage. “Is the magick in there, sir?”

“Yeah. He’s no threat, so you’re dismissed.” The captain answered, but he never took his eyes off of Babe. Relief must have been evident on his face because half a second later Captain Speirs added, “Not you, Heffron.”

Damn. Perconte smirked, the damn bastard, and nodded to the captain before he clapped Babe on the shoulder and left him to face whatever fate Speirs had in store for him. Babe straightened his back in an attempt not to show weakness.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how important that man is to our situation.”

“No, sir.” Babe swallowed, but he kept eye contact.

Speirs narrowed his eyes and made something of a grunting sound before he continued. “The king said you seem to have had a connection to this one so he wants you here to guard him in an attempt to get him to cooperate or communicate on some level. Any findings come straight to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s of no threat, but if he attacks you have permission to retaliate. Do not under any circumstances end that man’s life.” The threat underneath that order didn’t need to be voiced. Babe swallowed again and nodded. Spiers moved close, a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Your duty is to protect him, even against your own people, do you understand?”

“I do, sir.” 

“Good. He’s been assigned assistant physician. The king believes his runes can be put to good work here. Someone will relieve you at dinner.”

And then Speirs was gone. Babe learned how to breathe again as he watched the man’s back and cursed himself with every fiber of his being. If he could have just ignored some bare feet he wouldn’t have been in this position. Disheartened, he wondered who was supposed to replace him. It was only hours until nightfall.

Babe pulled himself together and turned back to the door to the cottage. He approached the door with his chin held high and pushed the door open without a second’s hesitation. It backfired immediately. The door hit something — or rather  _ someone _ and a chain reaction followed from there. Something clay smashed on the floor loudly, the someone who Babe had hit with the door cursed and stumbled into something Babe couldn’t see, still trapped behind the door that didn’t open fully, and the magick Babe was supposed to guard looked on unimpressed.

“Fuck!” the person Babe had hit with the door shouted and then the door slammed back on Babe with surprising force. Babe’s forehead and nose stung with the force of the blow and he staggered back in shock. Then, the door was pulled open and a very irate man stood in the doorway. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to extract those essences?”

Babe was at a loss and managed to open his mouth and close it twice before he stumbled over something of an apology. The man only muttered and ran a hand down his face. He looked at Babe again, sighed, and then disappeared back into the cottage. Babe hesitantly approached the now open door and inched his way inside.

Now that he could properly see the man, Spina the physician was just a tad shorter than Babe. He wore simple clothes, not unlike the magic user, but his hair was a mess atop his head. The man moved about in the small cottage as if he didn’t spend every day in there; he turned around constantly, tired eyes scanning for something Babe wouldn’t know the name of to save his own life.

“Tell me somethin’.” Spina demanded shortly when Babe found a corner to stand in. “Did I piss off Malarkey?”

“What?” Babe asked lamely.

“The king then.” Spina growled. “The tincture was late, I know, but that ain’t my fault and ain’t a reason for this.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Just — ” Spina held up a hand and then pointed to the bed. “Sit or stand outside.  _ Don’t  _ touch anything.”

Babe had never met anybody so cross with him so quickly. It wasn’t his fault that the cottage was so small that he couldn’t get in without bumping into a few things. The physician should have a cleaner work area. Or at least a larger cottage. Why didn’t he have a room in the castle? There were plenty of free rooms that could be converted to a physician’s quarters. Not only that, but he’d be closer to the king and Babe wouldn’t be stuck cramped inside of the cottage wondering just how in the hell he was supposed to protect a magick with no room to swing his sword.

The magick seemed unaffected by Spina’s cross mood and had found a place for himself sat on a stack of books. His eyes were trained on some sort of plant with deep, purple leaves. Babe watched nervously as the man reached out and stroked one of the leaves before moving on to examine the stalk.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the cottage. Spina cleaned up the mess on the floor and muttered quietly to himself. The magick continued to examine the plant with a gentle touch. Babe just stood in the corner and watched, feeling an awful lot like he was the one being punished here.

The silence seemed to last forever; Spina twiddled about doing whatever it was that a physician did and the magick pulled away from the purple plant, slumped on the stack of books. He looked tired, Babe noted, and he hoped that meant he wouldn’t cause any trouble. He was still on edge, curious and nervous at the same time about those runes the man could have hidden on him.

“Where the hell did I put the Betony?” Spina grumbled, shoving potted plants to and fro.

Babe watched with wide eyes as the magick reached down, picked up some bright purple plant — why were half of the plants in here purple? — and set it gently on an already overcrowded table. Spina paused in his erratic movements and furrowed his brows. He moved, slowly, Babe noted, around more potted plants on the floor and boxes full of linens and glass vials to approach the magick.

“You know what this is?”

Babe’s hand curled around the hilt of his sword, unsure of what was the come. Physician or not, Babe was under bigger threat than him to keep that magick safe. The magick only stared back and made no move to confirm or deny. Spina straightened, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and crossed his arms.

“What about Clary Sage?”

To Babe’s amazement, the magick swept his gaze around the room, stood, and reached past Spina to grab a tall white and pink petaled plant. He almost dropped the pot, but Spina accepted the plant with a satisfied half smirk. The magick didn’t look pleased, merely tired, and sat back down on the stack of books.

“Hey, you.”

Babe was half startled by the terse call. “What?”

“Go wait outside. There’s no room for you in here.”

“I’m supposed to be protecting him.” Babe argued, although every instinct told him to leave the far too stuffy and cramped hut.

“What, you think I’m gonna hurt him? Give us some room to work. Out.” 

Babe was shooed off with a wave, and reluctantly, Babe agreed to leave. He didn’t want to break anything else and it wasn’t like there were any windows for the magick to escape from. Spina didn’t look like the type to intentionally hurt a guy, either. So Babe settled himself on the step up to the cottage and watched the bees and butterflies flutter about the extensive garden. He didn’t even know what half of the plants were. Not vegetables by any means.

Absentmindedly, Babe stroked at the palm of his hand where he’d sliced it open. He’d never seen magic before, let alone felt it. It was strange to experience; like his mind couldn’t keep up with his eyes. But he’d felt it, those surprisingly strong hands around his wrist, folding a single stone into his palm. The hair on his arms and neck stood on end at the memory of it.

But why would the magick do something like that? To prove he was useful? To try and gain favor? Babe was a nobody. There was no point to get on his good side. If it had been Bill or Toye or any of the other knights, maybe, but the man didn’t even really bother to look at him today. There was no indication that he even remembered who Babe was.

He thought back to Randleman, the sleepy giant with an easy Sansarkan accent. It must have been exciting to witness such a thing as a child; runes that could light a room or heal a wound. If something was so useful, why outlaw it?

“Fuckin’ Zanians.” Babe muttered under his breath.

All it took was one bad apple to sour an entire orchard. Everyone had heard the stories; an isolated people twisting and distorting magic for their evil whims. When Babe’s mother had sat them down and warned them about the horrors that went on in that awful swamp Babe had gone pale in fear. Two weeks later a decree was made; any magic user was to be put to death for their crimes.

Babe’s neighbor, Emma, was an older woman who used the barest hints of magic to grow her garden. She would share her pumpkins in the autumn harvest celebrations. Not a single person in the village held any ill will towards her. When the decree came, Babe wept as she was led away in chains. Her children bawled and screamed, her husband had to be held back by Babe’s own father, and the town wallowed for days after that. There were no more pumpkins at the celebration and for three years Babe couldn’t even look at a squash.

“Why her, mama? She ain’t done nothing wrong!” Babe had cried, had stamped his foot.

Babe’s mother had swallowed, frowned down at him and in as cold a voice as Babe had ever heard from her, said; “Don’t matter that she ain’t done nothing wrong, Babe. Innocent people get hurt when men twist what ain’t supposed to be twisted. Emma is gone because of the Zanians, Babe, and you’d best remember that.”

Babe never had forgotten it. With a sigh, he wondered if the magick in that cottage knew how lucky he was to be alive. He could have been burned at the stake if this kingdom wasn’t in a state of crisis. 

“Hey, Babe!” The call came, and Babe perked right up. The one and only Bill Guarnere sauntered up, lips drawn in a good natured smirk. “You ain’t slackin’ on the job, are ya?”

“Got kicked out.” Babe grumbled and jerked a thumb to the door behind him. “They’re talkin’ plants.”

“He’s talkin’?”

“Nah,” Babe answered, “Spina’s doin’ the talkin’. Making him fetch plants.”

“Huh.” Bill said and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Babe ignored the look entirely. “You here to replace me?”

“No, we’re going out on a quest. The damn fetchin’ dogs found something and need a magick to investigate. Can you believe it? Not a single day’s rest before we’re out marchin’ our goddamn legs off again.”

“Let me go in your place.” Babe practically begged. “C’mon, I don’t mind the walk!”

“Sorry, Babe, King’s orders.” Bill said, shit eating grin and all. Then, with a fond gloved hand to Babe’s hair, “Don’t be in such a rush. You’ll earn that knighthood soon enough.”

Babe sagged against the step and pushed Bill’s hand away. “Just go.”

Bill laughed and slapped at Babe’s cheek before retreating back to the company of knights Babe could see mounting up to go on another grand adventure out into the wild. Bitterness pulled his lips down into a scowl. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t ask to be healed by the magick. He didn’t want to be stuck guarding a mute who couldn’t communicate with him even if he tried.

Annoyed, Babe stood and opened the door — slowly this time. He didn’t need to be yelled at again. Spina was hovered over a plant, speaking softly and pointing to the leaves. The magick was still on that stack of books, but he looked a lot more relaxed than he did before.

“You need something?” Spina growled.

Babe stood for a moment, made eye contact with the magick and scowled. “No.”

He shut the door and sat back on the step, wishing the sun in the sky would hurry up and fall past the tree line. Why the hell had the magick chosen him? For the first time in his life, Babe wished he was a piece of shit and had let the magick freeze in that dark cell.


End file.
